


His Father's Son

by MonJoh



Series: Season 4 AU [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Arthur Finds Out, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonJoh/pseuds/MonJoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Father’s Son (Season 4 AU) What if Arthur caught Merlin rescuing the dragon egg leaving both of them to struggle with their damaged friendship and still honour their fathers? Arthur faces kingship without Merlin at his side. Merlin fights for their shared destiny while living as a fugitive but it will take both of them to stop Morgana’s next assault on Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aithusa AU

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to DaleJ for beta.

Arthur sat and stared unseeingly at the lit candles in the far corner of his chambers. They would send for him when his father’s body had been prepared for viewing. Until then, there was nothing more for him to do.

After the vigil tonight, after the funeral tomorrow, he would have to finalize arrangements for his coronation. Though he had performed all the kingly duties as regent these past several months, there needed to be a ceremony. The people needed a show. They needed to see their new king say his vows and don the crown before he took his place on the throne his father had occupied since he was nearly as young as Arthur was now. Arthur had to make them believe he could take his father’s place, though he was not yet ready.

Uther had led his brother’s troops against the usurper and won back the kingdom. Then he forestalled potential civil war when he secured the throne after his brother’s death. He had engineered a historic treaty among the Five Kingdoms. What could Arthur hope to accomplish to match his father’s triumphs?

He heard the door open and close. It could not be the call he awaited because they would knock. Only one person would come in without knocking.

“I am so sorry.”

Without looking, Arthur knew sincere sympathy shone in Merlin’s eyes.

“I... I should've...” Merlin straightened his shoulders and came to stand at the end of the long table, his dark hair haloed by the candlelight. “I wish there was something I could have done.”

Arthur did not raise his eyes. “Merlin. No one but me is to blame for this.”

“You are not to blame. This isn't your fault.”

Arthur choked back a laugh. “I'm entirely to blame. My father spent twenty years fighting magic. To think I knew better. I was so arrogant. That arrogance has cost my father his life.”

“You were only doing what you thought was right. I'm sure that old sorcerer meant no harm. Perhaps the spell went wrong. Uther was dying. Maybe nothing could have saved him.”

Arthur looked down at his hands, at the tabletop, and back at the candles. “We'll never know. All I know for sure is that I've lost both my parents to magic.” Finally his eyes met Merlin’s concerned gaze. “It is pure evil. I'll never lose sight of that again.”

The knock came. Arthur looked at the door before returning his gaze to the tabletop. He took several shallow breaths. Then he got to his feet and went to say his final farewell to his deceased father.

* * *

Carved columns lined the cavernous room and squares of sunlight from rows of small windows lit swirls of dust no one had disturbed for four centuries. The would-be thief’s limp form sprawled next to one high-ceilinged wall at the top of the ancient tower.

Merlin stilled the trembling in his hands as he gently lifted the egg from its pedestal, cradling it carefully in both hands. It was two handspans tall, yet surprisingly light considering the size of creature it would hatch. Merlin may have failed utterly in his destiny – well, Arthur was king but he would never allow magic to return – but the warlock could free this dragon, this magical creature. Balinor would still have something to be proud of in his son.

The instant Merlin lifted the precious burden from its pedestal, a whirring and clicking warned him that removing the egg had triggered a defense mechanism. Momentarily he froze. Then the walls around him cracked with an echoing bang and chunks of the tower roof fell. There was no time to save Julius Borden, lying unconscious where Merlin had thrown him in defense of the dragon’s egg. If he tried to drag Borden down the stairs and out of the tower, both of them and the egg would be crushed by collapsing stone.

Sheltering the egg as best he could under his jacket, Merlin bolted down the tower stairs while dodging falling chunks of stone. The vibrations nearly knocked him from his feet but he maintained his balance and his grip on the egg. Billows of rock dust rose as the stones crashed against each other choking his lungs and blurring his vision.

As he exited the tower, he barely had time to halt his headlong rush when a chunk of rock landed directly in front of him. He raced around the stone, dodging smaller chunks falling like hail, and headed for the ring of trees which surrounded the overgrown clearing where the tower had stood. His satchel leaned against one of the trunks, waiting to help him smuggle the egg back to Camelot.

Toward him ran King Arthur leading four knights, all with swords drawn and staring up at the crumbling monolith which had marked the tomb of Ashkanar. He stopped when he saw Merlin was safely out of the tower. The knights came to a standstill behind their king, watching as the impressive structure crashed down into a pile of broken rock.

Merlin halted his headlong rush, facing Arthur and the knights in the knee-high brush between the rubble of the ruined tower and the woods beyond.

“What happened?” Arthur shouted over the noisy collapse.

“The tomb was a trap,” Merlin said.

The egg was too large to conceal under his coat and the knights were now between him and his satchel. He needed to distract them. His eyes flashed and a large tree branch behind the knights fell to the ground, but the noise was lost in the clamour of huge stones falling on top of each other. None of knights so much as glanced away.

Arthur’s eyes lighted on what Merlin was carrying. “Merlin, you did it!” he said. “We can make certain the dragon’s egg is destroyed now.”

With a lurch, Merlin feared his own reckless actions would force him to choose between the last dragon and his closest friend. His mind churned furiously through ways to save the precious egg without revealing to Arthur he was a dragonlord and a sorcerer. If only he had not acted so hastily to assist Borden against Gaius’s advice. His ill-planned rush had jeopardized any last chance of fulfilling his destiny by the king’s side.

“Father would be proud I will finally destroy the last of these monsters.” Arthur eyed the huge egg. He was in mourning; he would not question the deceased king’s condemnation of magic and all things magical the way he had in his father’s lifetime. “Set it there.”

“No.”

“What do you mean? Give it to me, then.” Arthur sheathed his sword.

Merlin could not allow him to get his hands on the egg, even if it meant alienating his best friend and king. “No, I can’t let you hurt this dragon.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Arthur said.

Sir Leon exchanged a confused look with the other knights.

 “Merlin, my friend,” Gwaine began, but stopped when Merlin shook his head and held out a hand to ward them all off.

“It’s a magical creature; it must go free,” Merlin said.

“This is ridiculous.” Arthur moved to take the egg.

Merlin had to get the dragon egg safely away. Looking up to the sky, he raised his voice and shouted. “ _O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes_!”

***

Impatiently, Arthur took a step toward Merlin to snatch the egg from his idiot servant but inexplicably Merlin backed away, cradling the horrible creature as though it were dear to him. Arthur felt a terrible sense of foreboding creep over him.

Then the young man shouted in a foreign tongue, staring up at the sky. The alien-sounding gibberish coming from Merlin startled Arthur. He halted his advance and looked at Sir Leon, uncertain how to react to his servant’s strange behaviour.

“He’s mad,” Leon said.

Not knowing what caused Merlin to lose his mind or what to do about it, Arthur hesitated.

Percival pointed at the sky. “Sire.”

Arthur lifted his gaze to see the sun momentarily blotted out by a wingspan that threw a shadow across the entire open area where the tower had stood. The Great Dragon!

“Take cover,” Arthur shouted, heading for the shelter of the trees.

In one fluid motion, he drew his sword and took up a defensive posture while checking that his knights were in position behind him and ready for battle. Satisfied they were prepared to attack on his order, Arthur turned his attention back to the huge creature landing only a stone’s throw from them.

At the same moment he realized to his horror that Merlin still stood in the area between the trees and the ruined tower and the dragon had landed beside him, its great horned head towering over the puny figure of the man. The dragon must have discovered the egg’s existence and obviously intended to retrieve it, which meant Merlin was in mortal danger. Arthur raised his sword as a signal to charge.

The Great Dragon reared back. Whether it intended to slash them with its monstrous front claws or burn them to death with its fiery breath, Arthur never learned. As he and the knights closed ranks and collectively formed a barrier to protect themselves from the dragon’s attack, Merlin shouted again.

“ _Nun de ge dei s'eikein kai emois epe'essin hepesthai_!”

The huge creature dropped back to its feet and regarded Merlin in what Arthur nearly believed was a look of annoyance. Taking advantage of the respite, Arthur leapt ahead. His knights immediately followed his lead, but before they could take two steps, a wall of fire sprang up to bar their forward charge. The intensity of the flames formed an impenetrable barrier between the knights and the dragon which prevented them from rescuing Merlin.

Shielding his eyes from the brightness of the burning wall, even though Arthur could not see anything on the ground which fed the fire, he tried to see through the blaze. Merlin was dwarfed by the enormity of the dragon’s bulk and still cradled the egg.

Afraid he was about to witness his friend’s death and helpless to stop the dragon, Arthur cried out, “Merlin!”

Merlin seemed to look directly at him and then turn to the dragon as if speaking. Arthur could not hear any words over the noise of the flames and the rattling of stones as vibrations from the dragon’s landing caused the last vestiges of the tower to fall.

The wall of flame vanished when the dragon lifted into the sky above the ruined tower, Merlin clinging to its back and apparently still in possession of the dragon’s egg. The threat gone, the knights exchanged a look among themselves.

“What happened here?” Gwaine dared to say aloud.

“We were tracking the thief who stole the last piece of a key from the Camelot vaults that opens an ancient tomb which is supposed to contain the last known dragon’s egg,” Elyan recounted. “Borden set traps for us so we decided to make camp, we were eating stew, and the next thing I remember we were all waking up from a deep sleep and Merlin hadn’t come back.” He looked around. The other knights nodded to indicate that so far what he had said matched their own recollection. “Or maybe he came back and found us all asleep and decided to go after Borden himself. In any case, the trail led here and we arrived in time to see the tomb collapse into a heap of rubble and Merlin barely make it out alive. Then there was a dragon and a strange wall of fire …”

Elyan paused as if someone else might give a more logical end to the tale than what had happened next.

“How did the Great Dragon know about the egg?” Arthur demanded, not expecting anyone to give an answer.

“Merlin called the dragon,” Percival said. When the others looked at him sharply, he shrugged.

“Or maybe we’re all still asleep and this is a dream,” Elyan finished hopefully.

That was more likely than Arthur’s best friend choosing to aid a monster.

“It was sorcery,” Leon said, shocked.

“I’ve never heard of using sorcery to summon a dragon,” Arthur argued.

“The fire we couldn’t pass through,” Leon said slowly. “It was sorcery and Merlin did it.”

Percival looked at Gwaine. “You owe me five silver pieces.”

The dark-haired knight grimaced in response.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur demanded in frustration. “Merlin is not a sorcerer, I would know.”

“The Dorocha,” Elyan said.

The others looked at him questioningly.

“No one could survive the Dorocha,” Elyan went on. “There was not one single person who recovered after their touch. Except Merlin.”

Silence greeted this observation. Percival shook his head at their bewilderment.

Disbelievingly, Arthur stared at Elyan. Merlin had only been attacked by the Dorocha because he was protecting Arthur, nearly sacrificing his own life in the process. Or had he really risked his life? If he knew he would survive, then he had not actually risked anything, only made it seem as if he had.

Leon took a deep breath. “Sire, Merlin stole that dragon egg and used sorcery to escape with it.”

Arthur stared hard at his knight but Leon returned the glare without backing down. Finally Arthur looked at each of his knights in turn. “Is that what you all think?”

Finally Gwaine spoke. “That’s what I saw, but I’m sure Merlin has a logical explanation for what he did.”

“If Merlin is a sorcerer that would mean he’s lied to me all these years, from the day we met,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “What explanation could there possibly be for that?”

No one spoke.

“Magic is evil and those who practice it are enemies of Camelot, dangerous enemies,” Arthur went on, his eyes holding each of the knights in turn. “My father spent more than 20 years trying to rid this land of the plague of magic and when he died he left the future peace of the kingdom in my hands. If any sorcery was used here today then the person responsible – whoever it is – will pay the price.”

***

Merlin ordered the Great Dragon to cease its attack on the king and his knights, and then conjured a wall of flames to keep Arthur from attacking Kilgharrah.

“We have to get this egg to safety,” Merlin said.

Kilgharrah gave him a affronted look. “I told you before I am not a horse.”

Merlin waited patiently until, with a snort of disgust, the Great Dragon lowered his neck close enough to the ground for Merlin to haul himself up and grab hold securely, the egg cradled under one arm. Kilgharrah spread his wings and lifted into the air as Merlin released the spell that had conjured the wall of flame. If Arthur or any of the knights chose to fling a weapon at them, it was unlikely to cause Kilgharrah injury now.

Rock dust swirled into the air beneath the dragon. Before Merlin could blink debris from his eyes, the men on the ground below were indistinguishable red dots. The pile of rubble which had been the immense tomb of Ashkanar shrank as it dropped away below.

A now-familiar feeling of exhilaration came over Merlin as they flew. Whatever repercussions he would face for what he had just done were in the future and he would deal with them in time. For now, the egg was safe. He hoped his father knew.

In moments, Kilgharrah circled down onto a grassy slope next to an outcropping of rock. Once he landed, he lowered his head for Merlin to clamber off as gently as possible.

Merlin carefully set the egg on a tree stump and stepped back. He looked up at Kilgharrah. “Is it still alive?”

“It can live for more than a thousand years,” the Great Dragon said.

Merlin smiled happily. “So you are no longer the last of your kind.” Uther would have been livid.

“It would seem not.”

The young warlock regarded the egg. “When will it hatch?” he asked.

“Young dragons were called into the world by the dragonlords,” Kilgharrah said. “Only they had the power to summon them from the egg. As the last dragonlord, this solemn duty falls to you, Merlin.”

Honoured and also humbled by the responsibility, Merlin looked from the huge magical creature towering beside him to the egg where it rested on the stump. He wished Balinor had had time to teach him about these duties. Then he squared his shoulders. “How do I summon it?”

“You must give the dragon a name.”

Merlin thought carefully about a name, reaching out with his mind to sense the creature dormant and waiting inside the egg. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and called in the deep tones of a dragonlord, “Aithusa.”

There was a cracking sound. A piece of eggshell was poked out by a long snout, then another piece and another piece until the shell crumbled away to reveal a creature the size of an eagle. It did not yet sport any scales or horns but its claws were razor sharp. It was entirely white from its bald head to the tip of its tail.

“A white dragon,” Kilgharrah said, “is indeed a rare thing. And fitting,” he added, “for in the dragon tongue you named him after the Light of the Sun.”

Merlin looked from the Great Dragon, who looked as proud as Merlin felt, back to the small white creature. It stood on its hind legs and spread its leathery wings, making a chirping sound. In amazed wonder, Merlin gazed at the magical creature which had come to life before his eyes. Tears formed and he raised a hand to cover his face, laughing and crying at the same time.

“No dragon birth is without meaning,” Kilgharrah said. “Sometimes the meaning is hard to see, but this time I believe it is clear. A white dragon bodes well for Albion; for you and Arthur and for the land you will build together.”

Merlin sobered at the thought. “That will never happen now. My part in Uther’s death destroyed any chance Arthur will ever accept magic.”

“Do not give up, young warlock.”

The dragon’s words ignited a flicker of hope that the future he had worked toward for so long, the destiny the Great Dragon had predicted for him, could be salvaged if he was able to make Arthur understand and accept him now. But was it possible? “How am I going to explain this to Arthur?”

“You will have to work that out by yourself, young warlock,” Kilgharrah answered.

Merlin thought he had reconciled himself to living the rest of his life with his true self hidden even from his closest friends, yet he found that hope was tough to kill. “Will you take me back to Arthur and the knights?” he asked, knowing that carrying him around was a favour Kilgharrah would rather not grant.

“If you wish,” the Great Dragon relented.

 

From their vantage point high overhead, Merlin and Kilgharrah spotted the party of five men in chain mail and red capes. Camelot’s king and his knights had already left the secret valley where the tomb had stood and were making their way on foot through heavy forest back to their horses. Kilgharrah deposited Merlin in the nearest clearing large enough to accommodate the dragon’s great bulk and promptly spread his wings and took flight again, stirring up a small whirlwind of leaves, twigs, and dust.

Merlin watched the dragon disappear from sight, beginning to doubt the wisdom of approaching Arthur and the knights so soon to try to explain his seeming betrayal. But there really was no other choice; if Merlin hoped to fulfill his destiny to build the kingdom of Albion with King Arthur he had to make Arthur accept him despite what he now knew. If he was successful, the prejudice and fear that gripped Camelot under Uther would be shattered and Arthur’s reign would eclipse his father’s.

At the sight of Merlin standing directly in their path, all five armed men halted. Each one quickly scanned the sky. When Merlin remained motionless and there was no sign of any dragon, Arthur approached until they stood face to face.

“Where is the egg?” he demanded.

“It’s safe,” Merlin said.

“ _Safe_?” Arthur spat out. “We had a chance to rid the world of these monsters! Now there are two.” He narrowed his eyes. “The Great Dragon seems to be in remarkably good health considering you said I dealt it a fatal blow three years ago.”

Merlin’s heart sank at being caught in another lie. “Kilgharrah ceased his attack on Camelot and he has not caused any harm since then.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Kilgharrah?”

“That’s the Great Dragon’s name,” Merlin said.

“You’re on a first name basis with this monster?”

Not knowing how he could explain his relationship with Kilgharrah when he was not always certain himself of the dragon’s motives, Merlin held his tongue.

“My father was a great king. All I have wanted is to do what he would have done so I could be worthy of his name,” Arthur said. “Do you know how hard my father worked to destroy these evil creatures?”

“As hard as he worked to slaughter the dragonlords and hunt down my father,” Merlin said. As he hoped, Arthur looked taken aback.

“You said you didn’t know your father. Is everything you say a lie?”

“I met him only briefly,” Merlin hastened to explain. “When you and I found him.”

Merlin watched the play of emotions on Arthur’s face: confusion, memories of Merlin’s strange mood all the way to find Balinor and the tears when he died, comprehension. “The dragonlord …”

When Arthur did not say any more, Merlin nodded.

Arthur shook his head as though to stem the tidal wave of revelations coming at him. “Dragons were responsible for laying waste to Daobeth and I watched as the Great Dragon nearly destroyed Camelot at the cost of many innocent lives. These creatures are dangerous enemies. If you are on the side of these monsters, then you are also an enemy of Camelot.”

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face.

“If you know where the egg is, we can kill it and make this kingdom safer.”

“The egg hatched,” Merlin said. “Kilgharrah – the Great Dragon – will watch over the young dragon and make sure it causes no harm.”

“The Great Dragon attacked Camelot and would see us all dead.”

“He also helped me save Camelot more than once,” Merlin said.

“What idiotic gibberish is this now?” Arthur caught his breath and his blue eyes widened. “We never discovered how the creature got loose.”

Merlin decided honesty was the best way forward. “I kept my promise to free him. It was the price of the spell to help me defeat Cornelius Sigan.”

“You defeated Sigan? I thought … Gaius said he found … What do you mean a spell?”

“I’m a sorcerer, I have magic,” Merlin admitted. “And I use it for you Arthur, for you and for Camelot.”

***

Arthur felt as if reality was crumbling around him and nothing made any sense. Dragons – magic – and Merlin had said something about Sigan, secrets leading to more secrets. With mounting horror, Arthur realized the knights had been correct: Merlin was a sorcerer. His servant, his friend, the man he had trusted more than any other, had magic and consorted with dragons.

For a moment, Arthur experienced a piercing doubt of everything his father had taught him about sorcery, everything Uther had believed about the evil nature of magic, but then a vision of his father’s lifeless face rose up. His father had been taken from him too soon; he was not ready to bury Uther’s legacy of a kingdom free from the corruption of sorcery along with the dead king.

With a flash of insight Arthur stared at Merlin. Something about his eyes was like the old sorcerer’s. “It was you! You killed the king.”

“No, I tried to save him,” Merlin protested.

Arthur’s face blanched at what amounted to a confession. “Why would you save him – you’re a sorcerer, you must have wanted him dead.” Arthur felt it all begin to come clear. “This is what you wanted all along – Uther dead and me as king so you could persuade me to lift the ban on magic.”

“Yes, but –”

“You have been an enemy all this time, deceiving me and everyone else.”

Desperately Merlin tried one last time. “I’m your friend.”

“No, it’s all been lies. I thought I knew you, I trusted you.” As the magnitude of his error in judgement came clear Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s temper ignited. “You are a liar and a traitor.”

He drew his sword and without hesitation Leon leapt forward to assist his king. In the blink of an eye both their weapons flew from their grasp to land harmlessly on the ground several paces away. Elyan dropped his hand to his sword hilt but Gwaine put a hand on his arm.

“The king is in no danger, let them work it out,” the dark-haired knight said in his rough voice.

Undeterred by the loss of his weapon, Leon lunged to grab the sorcerer but Merlin held up one hand and Leon was knocked to the ground as if he had run into a brick wall.

“Arthur, please,” Merlin pleaded.

“Go,” Arthur said coldly. “If you return to Camelot or ever show your face to me again it will be on pain of death.”

***

Merlin reached Camelot well ahead of the king’s party thanks to a dense fog which mysteriously closed around Arthur and the knights, slowing their progress and causing them to lose their way. As soon as Merlin reached the citadel, he leapt from his horse and rushed directly to the physician’s quarters where thankfully he found Gaius working.

The old man looked up at Merlin’s breathless arrival. “Something wrong?”

“Gaius, I’m sorry,” Merlin gasped out.

“The egg?”

“It’s safe,” Merlin assured his guardian. “It hatched.” The memory briefly brightened his thoughts. “But Arthur and the knights were there when I got out of the tower and I had no time to conceal the egg.” A sheepish expression came across his features at the I-told-you-so look on Gaius’s face. “You were right. I was too quick to act, too quick to trust Borden and it’s my fault.” Being able to confess to his guardian eased some of his panic and worry. “Arthur knows who I really am,” Merlin went on more calmly. “I have to leave Camelot. I came to say goodbye and to explain to you.”

Until this instant, Merlin had not imagined what it would be like to leave Camelot. He had not considered yet where he would go or what he would do.

A stricken look came across Gaius’s face. He put one gnarled hand on his chest and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“There isn’t much time – I don’t know how far behind me Arthur is and if he catches me in Camelot I’ll be arrested,” Merlin said. “But maybe this was meant to be.”

“What do you mean?” Gaius asked.

“Arthur is king now.”

“But magic has not been returned to the land.”

Merlin shook his head sadly. “I already failed at that. When Morgana’s magic twisted my spell to kill Uther, it hardened Arthur’s heart against sorcery. He was never going to lift the ban on magic, and he certainly won’t now. There’s no reason for me to stay here.”

“Surely there is more that destiny had in mind for you,” Gaius said. “What about Morgana? What about Albion?”

The reminder of the powerful sorceress and Arthur’s mortal enemy gave Merlin pause. Gaius was right as usual, he could not leave the king or Camelot defenceless against Morgana’s malice, and Agravaine could not be trusted. Arthur would turn to his uncle for counsel yet Merlin was certain the man was in league with Morgana.

“There’s an abandoned tower near the Roman ruins by the north gate,” Merlin decided. “I’ll hide there and we’ll work out a way to communicate so I know when Arthur might be in danger.”

Gaius helped Merlin gather a few items of food and basic supplies to add to the satchel he had carried on his recent journey.

“I’ll see you soon, my boy.”

Merlin gratefully packed the additional supplies then, with a hug for his guardian, he took his satchel and hurried away.

***

Less than an hour later, the king and his knights arrived at the citadel’s courtyard, their horses lathered with sweat from a hard ride. They had lost hours to a strange fog that could not possibly have been natural and Arthur had a good idea whose sorcery that had been. Without a word to anyone, he threw his horse’s reins to a groom and marched directly to the physician’s quarters.

Gaius jumped when his door swung in with enough force to bang against the chamber wall. He carefully schooled his features as he turned to the doorway. “Yes, Sire?”

“Merlin is a sorcerer.” Arthur watched his physician’s face narrowly. He did not see any surprise there. “You knew.”

“Yes I did,” Gaius answered, steadily returning the king’s angry stare.

“Harbouring a sorcerer is punishable by death.”

Gaius folded his hands in front of him as he stood facing the king. “Do you intend to execute me?”

Arthur glared at the old man for several moments. “No,” he said finally. “But if you aid him in any way or allow him to return here, you will both be arrested.”

“I understand, Sire.”

Gaius was still standing calmly when Arthur turned and marched out of the room.

***

Agravaine found Arthur in his royal chamber. He had divested himself of his armour and cleaned up after the long journey.

“How goes it, Sire?” Agravaine inquired with a slight bow. “Were you able to find and destroy the dragon’s egg?”

“We found the tomb and the tower is destroyed,” Arthur replied. “I do not know what happened to the egg.” He did not meet his uncle’s eyes or elaborate further.

“Well, we can assume then that it was safely destroyed with the tomb.” Although Agravaine could not say precisely why, he had a feeling the young king was keeping something from him. It was absolutely necessary that Arthur put complete faith in his uncle or Agravaine’s value to Morgana would be diminished and that he did not dare to risk. “You know you can trust me, Arthur. If there is anything I can do to be of assistance to you?”

Arthur lifted his gaze to Agravaine’s face. “No, thank you, Uncle. All is well.”

“Very well then, Sire.” Agravaine turned to go.

“There is one thing,” Arthur interrupted his uncle’s exit. “Merlin is gone. Can you find me another manservant?”

 Agravaine wondered if this was what was bothering his nephew. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I dismissed him.”

 Agravaine concealed his delight at that news. The king’s relationship with his servant was far too close and it would be better if Arthur was forced to turn to his uncle, and only his uncle, for advice and counsel. It would be better yet if that pretentious maid, Guinevere, could be removed as well, but all in good time. For now, he knew of a perfect candidate to take over as the king’s manservant.

Hiding his satisfaction behind a wise and caring countenance, Agravaine bid the king farewell and went to inform George of the good news about his new position.

***

Uncertain why he had not confided Merlin’s treachery to his uncle, his trusted adviser and the person he had depended on since his father first fell ill, Arthur found himself wanting to speak with Guinevere. As if his wish had communicated itself to her, a knock sounded at his door and Gwen entered.

He stood to receive her warm embrace but the welcoming smile on her full lips faded at the grave expression on his face when she leaned back to look into his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

Holding her hands in his, Arthur stepped back to look down into her face. “Merlin is a sorcerer.”

“What?” Gwen gave a small, incredulous laugh.

When Arthur continued to look at her solemnly, Gwen sobered.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Arthur continued as though he were trying to convince himself as well as her. “Gaius knew.”

“But … Merlin?”

“He’s been lying to me, to all of us, from the day he arrived. He has been banished from Camelot on pain of death.” Arthur was relieved when Guinevere did not argue with him, despite the flash of anger in her brown eyes. “Morgana and I grew up together; she lived here from the time she was ten years old and I knew her as kind, compassionate, and a friend. Magic corrupted her and now she chooses to do nothing but hate. She deceived me, she deceived my father, and she attempted to take his crown to create a kingdom for her own benefit. Merlin is the same. He worked to win my trust, intending to use my position to undermine everything my father stood for, to undo everything he worked for and the land that he built. Merlin was never my friend, it was all lies and secrets and treason.”

“Are you sure that’s true?” Gwen asked quietly.

“Merlin admitted that he wanted me to be king to restore magic. It’s what he wanted all along, to use me to bring about the kingdom he sought, for himself and his kind. I was such a fool.” In a way Arthur was more angry at his gullibility than at Merlin’s ruse. “Anything he did for me was part of the deception, not friendship.”

Guinevere put her arms around him, and he leaned against her.


	2. His Father's Son AU

Although there was no reason to believe he had been followed, Gaius checked carefully in every direction before urging his mount to exit the road. He hurried into the forest knowing the leafless trees would not hide him until he was well away from the worn paths. When he was close enough to the old tower, he tethered the horse to make his way on foot, shivering in the cold winter wind.

“Gaius!” Merlin greeted his guardian with a hug, his delight at having company obvious.

The necessary caution meant several days had passed since the physician’s last visit.

“Here, I brought you more food and clean clothes.” Gaius handed over the satchel before finding a place to sit. The tower was in reasonably good repair, at least the lower chamber was stable and partially furnished with a functioning hearth. Merlin must hide the smoke from his cooking and heating fire, but of course that would not be much of a problem for the warlock.

“Thank you.” Merlin’s smile faded at the expression on his guardian’s face. “What is it?”

“Arthur returned with Agravaine and the knights. The party of raiders turned out to be Caerleon with an armed battalion.”

Wide-eyed, Merlin looked at Gaius. “ _King_ Caerleon? I didn’t realize Arthur’s party would be in that much danger – if I had known they were going all the way to the border I would have found some way to follow them.”

“They didn’t go that far,” Gaius said.

“You mean Caerleon and his troops were almost to the heart of Camelot?”

“Yes, and it gets worse.”

Merlin waited for his guardian to continue.

“Arthur offered Caerleon a treaty on terms he couldn’t accept and then executed him for refusing to sign.”

Merlin stared at Gaius. Shaking his head in disbelief he said, “Arthur has always shown mercy, he has never sought to humiliate an enemy in battle, that’s not like him.” He passed a hand across his face. “This is Agravaine’s doing, I know it. I should have been there.”

“Agravaine’s influence is strong. Even if you had been there, it’s possible Arthur would have acted the same.”

“At least I could have made sure he didn’t feel like he was alone and without friends when he needs them the most,” Merlin said.

Gaius paused only a moment and then delivered the final piece of bad news. “A messenger arrived at Camelot this morning; Caeleon’s queen and her army crossed our border at first light. They will be here by sundown tomorrow.”

He saw Merlin start as though he would rush straight to protect Arthur, which of course he could no longer do.

“Arthur notified the Council that he and his troops ride at dawn to intercept Queen Annis.”

***

From the tower window, Gwen watched King Arthur walk down the steps of the citadel and through the rows of knights lined up in the courtyard in full battle armour with red capes sporting the gold dragon of Camelot. Sunlight flashed from polished mail and weapons and banners fluttered in the breeze. Such a brilliant show for such a dark purpose: war. The soldiers stood to attention until the king mounted his horse and then turned as one to follow him through Camelot’s city gates.

“Don’t worry, Gwen,” Gaius said. “He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

“It’s different this time, though, isn’t it,” Gwen replied sadly, thinking of Arthur’s visit the previous evening to tell her their relationship was not appropriate and could not continue. “Arthur’s king now. The fate of Camelot rests on his shoulders alone.”

“He’s not alone, Gwen. You above all people should know that,” Gaius said.

“I do know that,” Gwen said. “But I’m not sure he does.”

Gaius scanned the assembled soldiers. A small smile touched his face when his gaze fixed on a foot soldier with a dirty scarf wrapped around his head and a patch over one eye.

“Gaius,” Gwen continued, “Arthur told me about Merlin.” She met the guarded look Gaius turned on her. “So it’s true.” She reflected on all the times she had turned to Merlin for help; when Arthur was in danger, when there was something he refused to see, when she needed a friend she could count on, it was always Merlin’s assistance she sought. “He’s always been there at Arthur’s side,” Gwen said aloud, watching Gaius’s reaction.

“And he is now,” the physician assured her. “He’ll take good care of Arthur.”

Gwen breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m sure he will. I’m pleased.”

***

As planned, Camelot’s army reached the ridge to see Queen Annis’s troops spread out on the plain below. He had the high ground and his knights were acclaimed for their skill, but Caerleon’s warriors were fierce and driven by righteous wrath at the cowardly murder of their king. Arthur stood alone at the edge of the cliff, surveying his enemy’s strength and thinking of how many lives would be lost the next day. A breeze lifted his blond hair but did nothing to cool his burning self-doubt.

Agravaine had advised him to inspire fear and respect among Camelot’s enemies the way Uther had done, instead he had inspired Annis’s thirst for vengeance. The message he had sent was not one of strength but of ruthlessness.

“Ensure the men have everything they need,” King Arthur said as his Uncle Agravaine approached to stand at his side. “They must be well rested by morning.”

“I’ll see to it, Sire.”

His father had never asked anyone’s counsel and Arthur despised his longing to speak with Merlin right now. For the briefest instant he wished he had never found out the truth, then he berated himself for his weakness. He had to be stronger now than ever; the fate of the kingdom rested on his shoulders alone. “Battle commences at first light.”

Acknowledging the dismissal, Agravaine left the king to stand by himself on the clifftop.

***

From his tent, Arthur could see Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan sitting around their campfire and amusing themselves at some joke, keeping each other company on the eve of battle. If Merlin were with them he would be sitting there, too, doubtless instigating some action on their part to keep their king’s spirits up. When Leon caught the king’s eye, he sobered and Percival turned around to see Arthur watching them.

“Get some sleep,” the king commanded as he closed the flap.

Alone in the tent, Arthur dropped his head into his hands. He had made the wrong decision. He had killed Caerleon in cold blood and brought this war on Camelot. Now his men would pay with their lives for his error in judgement. Again he wished Merlin were here, spouting his idiotic gibberish that always made Arthur feel certain he would conquer whatever danger loomed in front of him.

As the hours passed, the men tamped down their fires and laid down to sleep. In the quiet and dark Arthur made his final decision, one he did not discuss with his Uncle Agravaine. Donning a cloak to conceal his armour and his blonde hair and hide his face, he made his way among the sleeping forms and out of the Camelot camp. He did not notice one of the soldiers sit up at his passing.

When Arthur reached the bottom of the cliff, he encountered two armed sentries outside the Caerleon camp. He lifted his cloak to show he was unarmed. Holding the guards’ eyes, he threw the cloak off entirely. “You know who I am, take me to your queen.” He held up his arms and allowed the sentries to escort him into the enemy camp.

“Your Highness,” Arthur said immediately as the guards holding him brought him in front of Queen Annis in her tent.

Compared to her soldiers she was regally dressed, although by Camelot standards the rough linen and coarse fur appeared rustic. Her long red hair was held in place by a simple circlet which marked her as Caerleon’s royalty. She stood from the chair made of animal antlers and approached him. Annis slapped him across the face with a fury that snapped his head to the side.

“Your Highness, I know you feel nothing but contempt for me,” Arthur said hurriedly, hoping to say his piece before she ordered the guards to kill him. “You feel I have done you a grievous wrong and you would be right. I am ashamed of what I did; it was cowardly, it was unjust, and I am deeply sorry.”

“Sorry does not bring back my husband,” Annis said. “Sorry does not give my people back their king.”

“I realize that,” Arthur said. “I know there is nothing I can do to repair that loss.”

“Then what are you doing here, Arthur Pendragon?” Annis demanded.

“I want to call off the battle.”

“It’s a little too late for that.”

“I do not propose a truce, but an alternative. I invoke the right of single combat. Two champions to settle this matter between them.” Both his arms held fast by the sentries, Arthur hoped Queen Annis would at least consider his proposal.

“And why should I grant you this favour?”

Arthur was heartened that she waited for his answer instead of ordering him to be summarily executed. “There has been bloodshed enough already, Your Highness. There will be hundreds of lives we will save this way.”

The queen took a moment to ponder his words and then signalled her soldiers to release Camelot’s king. “And your terms?”

“If my man wins you must withdraw your army.”

“And if mine is the victor?”

Arthur looked at her levelly. “Then half of all Camelot is yours.”

Annis betrayed no surprise at the generosity of the offer as she held the king’s gaze.

At that moment, there was a disturbance outside the tent. One of the queen’s soldiers interrupted the conference to notify Annis someone had been caught spying on them but he had escaped, apparently by the use of sorcery.

Arthur did not allow any hint of his sudden suspicion to show on his features. Merlin could not possibly have followed his troops or him; the boy knew the sentence he was under if Arthur caught sight of him. Besides, now Arthur knew the truth about the warlock’s plans to trick him into allowing magic to be practiced again it would never happen, so he had no reason to trail the king anywhere.

After dismissing the guard who had brought the message, Annis sat down in the chair carved from antlers and covered in thick furs that stood in the centre of her tent and faced her royal visitor. “Very well, you shall have your trial by combat,” she said. “Announce your champion by noon tomorrow.”

Not allowing his relief to show, Arthur gave her a respectful nod. “Thank you, Your Highness.” With a bow he left the tent.

***

“But, Sire, we can win this battle, I know we can,” Elyan protested.

“I don’t doubt it,” Arthur assured his most trusted knights, standing in a semi-circle around him in the privacy of his tent. “But at what cost? How many men would be slaughtered?”

“And what if we were to lose this trial?” Elyan continued. “We can’t give up our land.”

“That is the deal I have struck,” Arthur said. “I believe it to be fair, and I will stand by it.”

“Well then,” Agravaine said. “All that remains, my lord, is to choose your champion.”

“It would be a privilege, Sire,” Percival said as he stepped forward.

Elyan immediately followed suit. “Sire.”

Gwaine and Leon both moved forward but before they could speak, Arthur held up his hands to forestall the flood of volunteers.

“There can only be one choice,” Arthur said. “One choice which is just and honourable. This fight is mine.”

The knights exchanged a glance. Their lives were expendable, to risk their king would seem to them the height of foolishness, yet he knew they would understand his position and respect his wishes. Arthur expected Agravaine to protest but the man said nothing.

“Then it’s settled.”

***

Morgana watched Queen Annis pacing in her tent.

“I don’t like it. It must be a trick.”

“What concerns you, Your Highness?” Morgana asked.

“Arthur,” she said. “Why would he choose himself as champion?”

“Because he’s Arthur,” Morgana said. “He’ll always risk his own life before those of his men.” Uther would not have done so, she knew.

Annis paused in her pacing to look at Morgana keenly.

“Trust me, it’s no trick,” Morgana said. “Arthur will fight.”

“It’s as if you were pleased, Morgana,” Annis said. “Whatever else he is, Arthur is a great warrior. You have as much to lose as I if he wins. You desire the throne of Camelot, do you not?”

“I don’t deny it, it should be mine after all.” She was Uther’s daughter, she deserved his crown. Arthur should never have been born. Morgause had told her the truth about Uther’s bargain with a sorceress to conceive a son and Agravaine had filled in what he and his brother Tristan knew and suspected. The hypocrisy of the man who had sired her made Morgana’s teeth clench.

She remembered well the moment of Uther’s death. Had he known as he took his last breath that magic had stolen the life from him? That it was her magic? She had been gathering herbs in the forest when his spirit raced toward her on its journey to the Other World, propelled by the hatred and violence surrounding his death, and she had fallen to her knees when it passed through her. She had left plants and basket where they fell and dragged herself home to bed to curl up on the blankets, weighed down by a mixture of strong emotions pulling her in every direction. She was once again the little girl who arrived at court, looking up in awe at the great king her father spoke of so often, who so many feared, who sometimes had a special smile for her, and sometimes looked right through her as if she did not exist. The girl who was living proof of his dishonour. She wondered what had broken his mind at the end: her loathing and rejection of his conditional love or the knowledge that his own flesh and blood carried the seed of magic.

Annis eyed her distrustfully. Morgana quickly checked her angry tone. It was sheer luck Arthur had alienated Annis by such an uncharacteristically dishonourable act, and only Morgana’s quick wit in pleading her connection with Gorlois, whom Annis regarded as an honourable man, had made this alliance possible. Helios, that barbarian Southron warlord, had yet to commit himself to aiding Morgana so for now she was dependent on the strength of Caerleon’s army to take Camelot. It would not do to appear unworthy as an ally. “Arthur will not win.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because I have the power to ensure that he doesn’t,” Morgana said with a smile.

“Then you must use it,” Annis said.

Morgana acknowledged the queen’s consent with a conspiratorial smile. Finally, she would have revenge, not just for herself but for her father – her real father – and everyone else Uther and his son had wronged.

As soon as she left the royal tent, she sent a messenger to Agravaine to meet her in the woods between the two camps and to bring her Arthur’s sword.

***

The servant assisted King Arthur to don the last piece of armour and cinched it tight behind his back.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said automatically before he remembered Merlin was not there. How could he miss the worst servant in the Five Kingdoms? Agravaine’s choice of manservant had proved to be eminently efficient and capable, yet Arthur had not wanted George to accompany him on this journey. Instead he had requested one of the other squires to assist him before the battle.

The boy hesitated for only a moment at the error in name before acknowledging the thanks with a simple, “Sire.” He departed the tent.

Arthur reminded himself again that his former servant, the man he had thought was his friend, had deceived him and betrayed him and besides there was no time to dwell on that now. Purposefully he turned his mind to the fight ahead, but thoughts of Guinevere intruded next. Although he knew Agravaine had spoken the truth when he reminded Arthur that his father disapproved of the seriousness of the king’s feelings for a serving maid, he regretted his last words to her and his decision to end their relationship. Yet another of the bad decisions he had made in the short time he had worn the crown his father had brought such honour and glory to.

Perhaps if Merlin had not been a traitor, if he had been simply servant and friend and confidante and adviser, with his counsel Arthur would have made better choices. But that could not be changed; all he could do was make better decisions from now on to shape the future of the land, as he had done today. For the first time since he became king, he knew in his heart he had made the right decision in convincing Annis to agree to trial by combat and in putting himself forward as champion.

Agravaine entered the tent. “It is time, my lord.”

“Very well,” Arthur responded.

“Is all in readiness?”

“Yes.” Arthur took up the royal sword from where it lay on the table beside him.

Agravaine gave him a broad smile.

***

Camelot’s troops were ranged along the edge of the cliff, banners held aloft, those of higher rank standing where they could view the combat far below. Agravaine and the knights were stationed in the middle of the long line of red capes spread along the ridge.

Far to their right, garbed now as a knight, Merlin also stood near the edge of the ridge with a clear view of the field of combat. Beyond the area reserved for the coming duel, he spied a black-robed figure with the hood of her cape covering her ebony hair standing beside Caerleon’s queen. He noted Morgana’s presence with both dread and resolve. Whatever she was planning, the warlock would ensure it did not cost Arthur his life.

***

On the plain below the watching knights, Caerleon’s troops were massed with their blue and white banners held high. Arthur saw Annis move forward from her army, her champion at her side. She stopped and waited in front of her troops as Derian continued forward to meet his opponent on the field of combat.

Making his way from the cliff to the rock-strewn, frozen grassland between the two armies, Arthur looked with mounting dread at the size of the giant chosen as Caerleon’s champion. The man was built like a mountain and had the look of a well-trained fighting man as well, despite his barbaric clothing. One arm was bare beneath his furs and leathers.

Arthur raised his sword and assumed a fighting posture. He and the giant circled each other a few times before crossing swords in earnest. For a while, Arthur held his own with superior footwork and speed but he knew he would have to end this quickly or the giant’s strength would outlast him. His arms ached every time he fended a blow from his massive opponent. He was thankful for the breeze that cooled the sweat on his brow.

Then Derian landed a lucky blow and Arthur almost fell, catching himself at the last moment and swinging his sword at the giant’s face as he spun. The blow opened a wound in Derian’s cheek. Angrily, he wiped the blood from his face and attacked with increased determination.

As Arthur moved to strike at his foe, he felt his sword drop heavily to the ground, still clenched in his hand, as if it held the weight of a thousand ages. Surely he could not be too tired to lift his sword. Desperately he swung with his left fist, catching Derian on the chin, but the giant saw his advantage and brought his own sword down with enough strength to take a man’s arm off. Arthur dodged the blow but could not move away while anchored by the weapon he grasped. Smiling, Derian swung again.

Oddly, Derian’s sword stopped in mid-air as though it had hit a wall, giving Arthur time to ram Derian with his shoulder and knock him to the frozen ground. The force of the impact left both men sprawled on the dry grass. Arthur had finally let go of his sword and Derian’s weapon had been struck out of his hand. The giant was the first to rise. He kicked Arthur in the stomach and retrieved his weapon.

A groan came from the Camelot knights on the ridge and a cheer came from the Caerleon soldiers on the plain below as their champion raised his sword behind his head and prepared to cleave Arthur in half where he lay.

Then Derian grunted in pain and surprise as the hilt of his sword slipped from his grasp behind his back to bury itself in the ground. Without a moment’s hesitation, Arthur spun to his feet and in one fluid motion, grasped the fallen sword and swung at the warrior’s back. Derian gasped as Arthur followed up the blow with a kick to the wound and the giant fell forward to land on the stiff grass. Even with his back cut and bleeding he quickly flipped over, intent on getting to his feet to attack again, but Arthur held the warrior’s own sword to his throat. Without taking his gaze from his injured opponent, Arthur lifted the sword as if to plunge it into the body of his fallen foe, but instead drove the point into the ground next to Derian’s head.

The giant warrior closed his eyes in defeat. The red-caped knights lining the ridge burst out in cheers for their king. With the battle won, Arthur turned to look up at the line of cheering men on the cliff above him, his uncle clapping along with them.

Arthur had time now to wonder at the strange way his sword had felt weighted down and at the fortunate turn of events that allowed him to prevail anyway. He realized Annis had used magic to handicap him. Cheating was not her style so she must have decided that using dishonourable means was acceptable after the dishonourable way he had killed her husband. He wondered what sorcerer she had allied with; she had no love for Morgana but that did not mean his half-sister could not find a way to exploit some weakness to obtain Annis’ cooperation. He wondered if Merlin could have allied himself with Annis in revenge but he could not believe his former servant was capable of deliberating working to kill him. A suspicion of who had used sorcery to save him went through his mind as he scanned the row of figures above him, but if there had been magic at work to even the odds he had no reason to believe that was Merlin, either.

Annis and her guards made their way to the place of combat where Camelot’s king stood waiting. “You are victorious, Arthur Pendragon,” the queen said. “You may rest assured that I will comply absolutely with the terms of our agreement. My army will be gone by nightfall.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Arthur said.

Queen Annis held out her arm and Arthur grasped it in the way of warriors.

“Tell me something,” Annis asked. “You spared my champion. Why?”

“Because it is not victory I seek,” Arthur answered. “It is peace.”

Annis eyed him narrowly.

“I hope that today will mark a new beginning for our kingdoms,” Arthur said.

“There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon,” Annis said. “Something which gives me hope for us all.”

“My father was a great ruler. I hope to bring honour to his memory.”

“I suspect that in time your accomplishments will eclipse his entirely.”

With a final look at Arthur’s face, the queen returned to give her troops their marching orders and left him staring after her.

***

Morgana moved through the ranks of Caerleon soldiers which parted to either side of her as she left the field. Only magic could have saved Arthur. It had to be the work of Emrys. As the Cailleach had warned her, he was destined to shadow her every move until ultimately he was her doom.

Once more her plans had come to naught; Arthur was alive, he was king, and she had nothing. She lived in a hovel, eating food she was forced to prepare herself and mending her own clothes. Her shoulders twitched under the shabby black dress, belted tightly at the waist. Morgana was tired of running and hiding, scraping out an existence in a tiny shack in the woods, dealing with mercenaries and criminals and watching her back every second, not able to trust allies any more than enemies, living in fear of Emrys. Why did such a powerful sorcerer defend Uther’s son and uphold his reign of tyranny? What had Arthur ever done to deserve such loyalty from one of her kin? Why did they all love him so well when there was no one to love her?

Arthur had fought well. After Uther’s death she had wondered whether it would be possible to forge a truce with her half-brother. She knew Arthur would hold her to account for her treason, but unlike Uther he would give her a fair hearing and maybe she could convince him she deserved leniency. She had always been able to sway him before; from the time they were children she had manipulated him when it suited her purposes. The thought of ending this battle for the kingdom and being free to live in peace had been tempting. Without her sister, all the burden of scheming, of buying and manipulating those with armies to aid her, even of caring for her basic needs had fallen to Morgana alone.

In the end, though, she dismissed the idea. In offering single combat and putting himself forward as champion, Arthur had proved he was a better man than his father, but in their hatred of magic they were just alike. He would never accept her. Arthur was no fit king, either; what kind of king would want to marry a serving girl? It was absurd. How disappointed Uther would have been. Not that he would have blamed his son, not the golden boy whose life Uther bought with his wife’s blood. He had been disgustingly willing to believe Arthur’s feelings for Gwen were the work of an enchantment. Arthur could do no wrong in Uther’s eyes while he treated his unacknowledged daughter like a possession to be seen and not heard. Her real father never treated her like that. Gorlois had loved her.

Morgana paused. When had she last visited Gorlois’s grave? Had it been with Uther on that ill-fated assignation with Tauren? If only she had not had a change of heart, not been fooled into believing Uther cared for her. If she had a chance to do it over, she would plunge the blade into Uther herself. He had not loved her. There were only two things she had ever seen him love: his son and his kingdom and she would take away both.

***

On the ridge above, Merlin watched Morgana’s departure from the field. Then he faded back into the crowd amid the noisy victory shouts so he could rid himself of his disguise before anyone noticed he was not truly a knight.

He had seen Annis make peace with Arthur, and Merlin doubted Caerleon’s queen would continue her alliance with Morgana. Arthur was alive and had taken another step in building the world Merlin believed he would create. Maybe one day he would learn, one day he would understand, that magic had helped him create that world.

***

Arthur led his army through the cheering throngs celebrating their victorious return to Camelot amid colourful flags decorating the streets. People shouted and clapped. He had only one thought: find Guinevere and apologize. Although he did not doubt the truth of his Uncle’s words – no one knew better than Arthur himself that his father would never have approved of his relationship with a mere servant – he had already decided that, in this matter at least, King Uther had been wrong. Arthur would make no secret of his love for Gwen, regardless of what Agravaine said, regardless of whether anyone thought it was appropriate.


	3. The Journey

In the weeks since the army’s victorious return from their confrontation with Caerleon, Gaius had kept his ward updated on the progress of the treaty talks and Arthur’s secret mission. Merlin guided his horse through the forest, carefully staying just out of sight of the party of armed knights Arthur led. Fortunately, the large mounted group made enough noise to conceal any sound of the lone man following them.

When he saw them make their way into the Valley of the Fallen Kings, Merlin cursed silently to himself. Nothing good ever happened in the Valley of the Fallen Kings and no one in their right mind would go in there, but of course Arthur’s route was secret and he would never let mere superstition stop him from taking any path he chose.

As the king’s party entered a valley, Merlin made his way along the top of the slight rise of ground where he remained hidden from the knights’ view. Because of his vantage point he could see what the men below him could not: an armed and mounted group of mercenaries lying in wait.

Abandoning any hope of remaining concealed from both knights and mercenaries, Merlin yelled, “Look out!”

At the warning, several knights looked around and the mercenaries, having lost the element of surprise, charged. Flinging their capes aside, the knights drew their weapons and fearlessly engaged the enemies coming at them from three sides.

***

Seeing mercenaries swarming at them from both sides of the small valley as well as several mounted riders charging them from the path ahead, Arthur realized the warning shout was the only thing that had saved them all from being slaughtered. If they had ridden further into the ambush, they would have been surrounded and no amount of fighting skill would have gotten them out alive.

In the brief instant before he flung off his cape and drew his weapon, Arthur looked back to find who had sounded the alarm. The sight of Merlin on the ridge above and behind them momentarily shocked Arthur. As he watched, two mercenaries closed in on the lone rider on the ridge but a large branch dropped from a tree above their heads knocking both assailants to the ground while their horses bolted. Arthur had time to think that was a lucky accident and immediately correct himself – _luck_ had nothing to do with it – before he turned his attention to the multiple attackers coming at him.

In the battle, Arthur found himself pulled from his horse. As he freed himself from the man’s grasp, he raised his sword against the mercenary’s axe. From the corner of his eye, the king had already ascertained his men were holding their own against the superior numbers and the knights were retreating back in the only direction not swarming with enemies. Arthur struck his opponent across the stomach and spun to face the next mercenary at the same time as he heard hoofbeats behind him. He felled the man in front of him but was unable to raise his sword again in time to defend himself against the mounted mercenary charging at him.

Arthur spun and then stared in surprise when he saw the man thrown from his horse as though flung back by an invisible hand. The king snapped his head around in time to see Merlin a short distance away with his hand outstretched. In the same instant, another mounted mercenary swinging a mace rode up behind Merlin where he stood in the road. Merlin turned but had no time to react before the mace smashed into his chest. Hand on the wound, Merlin was twisted back around by the force of the blow before he collapsed face first to the ground, the breath knocked from him as he landed.

Instinctively Arthur fought off the closest assailants before he raced to Merlin’s still form and dragged him to safety away from the last intense pockets of fighting.

***

Arthur saw Merlin’s eyelids flicker as the king half dragged and half carried him through a dry creek bed to a concealed spot at the base of a tree growing beside a streambed. Arthur could hear several mercenaries passing by through the woods above their heads.

Merlin’s eyes opened wider when he saw who held him upright. “They need to work through their anger,” he whispered weakly.

Arthur looked at him. “They just did,” he said. “On you.”

Merlin managed a slight smile at that.

The mercenaries above them paused to peer down into the stream bed. With a sinking heart, Arthur saw his footprints in the soft dirt of the creek bed and hoped the mercenaries did not notice them. A slight breeze blew dried leaves over the prints, then the sound of a snapping branch in the forest distracted the mercenaries and they turned to follow the noise.

Arthur looked at his companion. “You’ve done this before.”

A wince of pain crossed Merlin’s face. “Thank you for saving my life.” Even those few words seemed to take the breath from him.

“You’d have done the same for me,” Arthur responded without thinking. “Did the same,” he amended. Silently he regarded the young man beside him, thinking back over recent events as well as many other happenings since the boy had first come to Camelot. “All these years, Merlin,” Arthur said, “you never once sought any credit.”

“That’s not why I do it,” Merlin said.

The sound of men approaching on foot turned Arthur’s attention to their surroundings. The bank was too steep to climb carrying a wounded man, nor could they outrun whoever was coming toward them. A shout alerted Arthur that they had been spotted.

He made certain Merlin was safely propped against the dry bank before the king drew his sword and faced the five armed men racing toward him. A tree root lifted itself from the ground and tripped one of the men. As he fell, his hatchet flew from his grasp and buried itself in the back of one of his companions. Without missing a beat, Arthur dispatched the front runner, withdrawing his sword from the man and facing the next in the span of a heartbeat. A swirl of dirt and dried leaves temporarily blinded the fifth man and Arthur made short work of his current opponent before impaling the man who was trying to blink the debris from his vision. A blow to the head of the mercenary who had tripped ensured they were all wounded or dead and unlikely to give chase.

Satisfied, Arthur turned back to see Merlin’s closed eyes in an ashen face. It must have taken what little strength his friend had left to assist in the fight, and Arthur knew they must find somewhere they could hide from the armed enemies searching the woods so Merlin could rest.

When dark began to descend, Arthur was glad to find a hidden spot in the lee of a fallen tree trunk. He did not think Merlin would have been able to go much farther; the young man’s eyes were squeezed shut, lines of pain radiated from around his clenched jaw in the deathly pale face, and his breathing was laboured. At first he had been able to walk a little with his arm around Arthur’s neck, but more and more of the injured man’s weight had come to rest on the king as they made their way through the heavily wooded terrain until he was all but carrying Merlin.

Gratefully, Arthur unwound the arm from around his shoulders and helped Merlin to sit with his back against the fallen tree trunk. Gently Arthur peeled back the bloody shirt to take a close look at where the mace had smashed into Merlin’s chest. Even in the fading light what he saw did not look good, but he schooled his features as best he could.

“I’ve seen worse,” Arthur said. “Definitely seen worse.”

“On a dead man?” Merlin questioned with an attempt at a grin which was belied by a grimace of pain.

“You’re not going to die, Merlin, don’t be such a coward,” Arthur said. He reconsidered his last words. Looking directly into the pain-filled blue eyes, Arthur deliberately contradicted himself. “I know you’re not a coward. You are extremely brave, incredibly loyal to be honest, and I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

Merlin stared at his friend. “The wound is that bad, huh?”

Knowing Merlin would not be fooled by any false reassurances, Arthur decided they had best try to heal the injury by any possible means. “Can you,” Arthur hesitated over the unfamiliar request, “can you use magic to heal it?”

Surprise mingled with gratitude in Merlin’s eyes at Arthur’s suggestion of using sorcery. Holding the king’s gaze he answered, “I’m not that good with healing spells and even if I were I don’t think I have the strength.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. Then he gathered his courage and took the opportunity of frank conversation to ask the question that had been bothering him for weeks. “Why did you never tell me?”

“I wanted to, but …” Merlin began.

Arthur waited but Merlin said nothing more. “But what?”

“You’d have told your father and he would have chopped my head off.” His lopsided smile made it clear he did not hold that against Arthur.

“I’m not sure what I would have done,” Arthur admitted aloud as well as to himself.

“Then you would have been deceiving your father and your king and I didn’t want to put you in that position,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked at him. “ _That’s_ what worried you?”

Looking straight at Arthur, Merlin said, “Some men are born to plough fields, others live to be great physicians, some to be great kings.” Merlin smiled weakly. “Me, I was born to serve you Arthur, and I’m proud of that, and I wouldn’t change a thing.” The effort of speaking had sapped Merlin’s remaining strength and he weakly leaned his head back against the trunk, allowing his eyes to close.

Humbled by the simple declaration, Arthur said sincerely, “I don’t want you to change.” He waited until the eyes opened and focused on him. “I want you to always be you.”

Merlin’s labored breathing indicated the effort to say anything in response was beyond him.

“Just rest,” Arthur said softly.

***

Once it was fully dark, Arthur relaxed slightly. The mercenaries would be unlikely to search through the forest without being able to see, so he and Merlin would have several hours’ respite before making their run for safety. Arthur was certain his knights would have gathered beyond the Valley of the Fallen Kings and would be looking for him come daybreak.

Merlin groaned.

Arthur tried to think of something that would distract his friend from the pain. “What really happened that night when we rode out to face the Great Dragon?”

Panic flashed in Merlin’s eyes before a resolute expression settled on his face. “I told Kilgharrah to leave and if he ever attacked Camelot again I would kill him.”

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Arthur asked and then berated himself for sounding as though he had accused Merlin of wrongdoing.

“I only inherited the dragonlord power when my father died,” Merlin said.

“Power to command dragons?” Arthur could not help asking, incredulous that his friend could wield such a gift even though Arthur had seen it himself. Puzzled and amazed, he regarded Merlin. “Why were you still behaving like a servant?”

A slight smile crossed Merlin’s face. “It’s my destiny,” he said. “As it has been since the day we met.”

Arthur recalled the peasant boy challenging him in Camelot’s street. “I tried to take your head off with a mace.”

“And I stopped you,” Merlin said. “Using magic.”

Understanding dawned. “You cheated.”

“Yeah.” Merlin grinned at the incredulous look Arthur was giving him before his eyes squeezed shut and he put a hand on his chest.

Arthur’s mind went back to the expedition to find Balinor. “I’m sorry you lost your father.”

“I’m sorry you lost yours.” Merlin’s hand weakly gripped his arm. “Really I am. I did not kill Uther.” As if the force of his words had used up his strength, Merlin’s hand fell back to his side.

Arthur realized his grief at his father’s death had obscured his judgement and he had leapt to conclusions that were not true. “I know.” Arthur looked at the ground. “My father was a great king, but I don’t have his wisdom or his conviction. I’ve tried to follow his example but he was wrong to value an accident of birth above a man’s ability to determine who should be a knight, he was wrong about Guinevere, and he was wrong about those who practice magic.” Arthur raised his eyes to look directly at Merlin. “Not all sorcerers are evil or dangerous or enemies. At least one is even a friend.”

Relief flooded Merlin’s face as he relaxed back against the rough bark and exhaustion claimed him.

***

Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he realized he had been dozing. First light had already come. For a moment he remained still, listening for any sound that would indicate armed men nearby. A faint metallic ring could be heard. “I’d like to say we can stay here all day but another ten minutes and we’ll be mercenary mincemeat.”

“Leave me,” Merlin protested, not making any attempt to get to his feet.

Hastily, Arthur lifted Merlin’s limp form across his shoulders. “Now is not the time for jokes,” Arthur said, balancing the dead weight and simultaneously determining the best possible route to avoid detection.

“Please leave me,” Merlin gasped.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Shouldering the injured man, Arthur moved as quickly as possible in the direction they needed to go.

***

They were almost to safety. If Arthur had more time, he would make his way out of the Valley by a more circuitous route but he was certain Merlin had little time left before even Gaius’s medical help would fail to save him. The quickest way out was through a steep gully which hid them from view but would trap them if mercenaries caught up with them between the high banks.

Half way through the narrow passageway, Arthur heard heavy footsteps approaching from ahead. He laid Merlin’s limp form on the soft ground, ignoring the grunt of pain, and drew his sword to face whoever was coming at them.

A mercenary came in sight. With a battle cry, the man drew his sword and rushed at Arthur. Their swords clashed but Arthur had no time to fell his opponent before another armed mercenary came at him from behind in the narrow confines of the gully. Arthur landed a punch to the first man and a kick to the second, grabbing the arm of one and running him through before withdrawing his sword to finish off the second enemy. He caught his breath before the sound of a dozen armed men charging at him from behind warned him more mercenaries had followed them into the gully. Arthur took a deep breath and gripped his sword tightly, resolved to go down fighting.

As he prepared to defend himself against the hoard coming at him, a shower of large stones crashed down between the oncoming enemies and Arthur, effectively blocking the gully and giving him a clear path to escape but leaving Merlin trapped with the mercenaries.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouted, holding out a hand as though he could pull his friend through the barrier of rocks by sheer force of will.

His last glimpse of Merlin was a limp, unconsciousness form that did not protest when rough hands yanked him up and dragged him away.

In desperation, Arthur attempted to climb the pile of rocks but his foothold slid away beneath his boot and the stone he had grabbed as a handhold pulled loose to rain other stones down on Arthur’s head. Twice more he tried to scramble over the unsteady pile but when a large stone was knocked loose on his third attempt and narrowly missed crushing his arm, the king gave up his efforts.

Unable to rescue his friend, Arthur walked out of the gully and exited the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He took cover behind a tree when he heard several armed men ahead of him, waiting until he could see the four knights who had surrounded the tree with their swords drawn. Arthur parried Leon’s blow with his own weapon at the same time that Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan realized they had cornered their own king.

“Nice to see you, too,” Arthur greeted them sarcastically. “We need to gather a force strong enough to wipe out these mercenaries and find Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Leon exchanged a puzzled glance with the other knights.

“He’s the one who warned us of the ambush and now he’s injured but alive. We have to find him,” Arthur repeated.

“But, Sire,” Elyan began.

“He saved my life – all of our lives – again,” Arthur said, “and we are going to rescue him.”


	4. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and/or comments, it is much appreciated.

Merlin’s blissful state of unconsciousness was interrupted by a dousing of icy water. He came awake, gasping. He really hated when Arthur pulled a mean trick like that. Then a wave of crippling pain spread from his chest followed by a realization that the smells and sounds around him were unfamiliar and his arms ached.

Noises of animals and wind moving through trees were barely muffled by thin walls; scents like Gaius’s storage cupboard mixed with more pungent odours reminded him of an apothecary’s shop. Myriad jars, bottles, and other containers filled shelves and items of all sizes hung from every available space in the crude dwelling.

Blinking water from his eyes as it dripped from his dark hair, he tested the bonds tied around his wrists. They were fastened by the same rope to a ceiling beam in the ramshackle hut, which must be stronger than it looked since it was supporting his suspended weight.

He focused on Morgana. Her black mourning dress was of fine cloth but had been inexpertly patched many times, the lacings were frayed, and rips around the hem needed mending. Her raven hair was snarled and knotted back in a clumsy twist. She looked very different from the impeccably groomed woman who had been King Uther’s cherished ward and then briefly Camelot’s despised queen. His eyes came back to the beautiful face so close to his. It was a bad sign that she had taken time to wake him before killing him. A bad sign indeed.

“Good morning,” she chirped brightly, her green eyes as cold as frost.

If looks could kill, he would be dead already. “Is it?”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Her lips formed a pout.

Her smile turned his blood to ice, but at least it took his mind away from the pain of his wound and the throbbing in his arms.

“We have a lot of catching up to do. After all, I haven’t seen you since you condemned my sister to a slow and painful death, thwarted my plans to take over Camlet, and forced me to live in this hovel.”

There was a baffled expression behind the accusation, a question of what part he had played in emptying the Cup of Life and defeating Morgause’s immortal army.

“Couldn’t do me a favour, could you?” Merlin taunted back. “Let Arthur know. He still thinks of me as an under-achiever but I’m quite proud of those accomplishments. I can die happy.”

“Oh, you’re not going to die,” Morgana quickly reassured him. “Oh, no, I’m not going to make it that easy.” Her tone was as icy as her stare.

He wondered if he would be in more danger if he continued to pretend she had him trapped and waited for an opportunity to escape, or if he revealed himself using sorcery and made himself a target for her hatred and fear of Emrys.

Unfortunately, as much as he tried to ignore the pain of the mace-wound the mercenary had inflicted, he was not sure he had the strength to get himself out of this right now even with magic. Maybe the injury was as bad as Arthur had thought and whatever Morgana was planning would be foiled by his untimely death. Yet the fact that he was still breathing meant she had already begun healing his damaged flesh. His last thought as he lost consciousness again was that her wanting him alive was another bad sign.

***

As she washed the unconscious man’s wound, Morgana wondered how Merlin had been the key to all that had gone wrong with Morgause’s plan. Gaius did not have the strength to defeat Morgause without aid, no matter what her sister thought. It had to have been Emrys. For some reason, Emrys was aiding Merlin, and Merlin was blindly loyal to Arthur.

Morgana pressed the cloth she held into the torn flesh with unnecessary force, delighted when Merlin groaned in pain and his eyes flickered open.

“You know there’s one thing I don’t understand, Merlin,” Morgana began as soon as he was conscious. “Why are you so loyal to Arthur? You’re his servant, nothing more, yet time and again you’ve proved yourself willing to lay down your life for him.”

“What are you doing?” Merlin croaked, unable to hide his wince.

“You’ve never seen Gaius clean a wound before?” Morgana retorted.

“All right, I know _what_ you’re doing,” he growled weakly. “What I don’t know is _why_.”

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look directly into her eyes. “I believe I asked you a question first,” she snapped. “Why are you so loyal to Arthur?”

As soon as she released her grip on his face he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I don’t expect you to understand, Morgana,” he rasped. “You have no sense of duty, no sense of loyalty.”

“You’re wrong,” Morgana said softly. She forced him to look at her again. “Don’t think I don’t understand loyalty just because I have no one left to be loyal to.” They were dead or had turned their backs on her. Her father, Gorlois, betrayed by his king and left to die in battle. Uther, who denied his true responsibility and would have killed her had he known of her magic. Gwen, who was supposed to be her rock, whom she had treated as a friend, had quickly turned her back on Morgana when she caught the prince’s eye. Merlin had said she could trust him, then he poisoned her for Arthur’s sake. Finally her sister, Morgause, so long denied her because of Uther’s prejudice, was lost to her. All she had left were Agravaine’s fawning subservience and whatever allegiance fear and greed bought her from rabble like those mercenaries.

Again Merlin refused to meet her eyes the moment she took her hand away. The boy was hiding something, she had no doubt, but it was unlikely to be important. Probably he was rightfully guilty about poisoning her. Morgause had saved her and given her a reason to carry on, a purpose, hope for a future in a kingdom free of Uther’s tyranny. Now Uther was gone but his son carried on his work. It was sweet justice that Arthur’s death would be accomplished by the person who had interfered most often with her previous schemes: Merlin himself. Savouring that thought, Morgana placed her hand on his wound and incanted a spell to speed the healing. She needed him to live long enough to accomplish the task she had in mind.

She saw Merlin’s eyelids grow heavy as she recited the incantation. Watching with satisfaction as he was unable to keep his eyes from closing, Morgana placed her hand on Merlin’s head to complete the spell and left him hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

***

Merlin knew something was different the next time he regained consciousness. The throbbing pain in his chest, which had become so familiar he could barely remember what it felt like to be well and whole, had been reduced to a dull ache. He took a few deep breaths just because he could. Even the soreness in his arms had faded instead of increased with the amount of time he had hung there, asleep. Surreptitiously he tried again to loosen the rope around his wrists while scanning the small hut’s single room for Morgana.

She was removing a tiny, round metal object from a cupboard and the careful way she handled the coin-sized piece worried him. As reckless as she was, anything she treated with caution must be truly frightening.

“Why are you doing this?” he dared to ask her.

Morgana greeted the interruption to her careful preparations with a baleful glance in his direction before she returned to the task at hand.

Merlin tried again to distract her. “Uther is dead now, you have no more reason to live in fear.”

Morgana snorted with contempt. “You think Arthur is any different?”

“You know he is,” Merlin said.

For a moment she stopped what she was doing with the coin-like item and stared down at the metal bowl. Then her eyes fixed on him and a cold smile spread across her face. “Afraid, Merlin? You won’t be able to talk your way out of what I have planned for you.”

Carefully, she placed the metal bowl on the raised hearth and began assembling strange-smelling ingredients. At her glance a fire lit under the bowl.

Despairingly, Merlin watched as Morgana began a ritual which he knew would end badly for him. Normally he was willing to learn anything about magic, but the vibes he could sense from the round metal object with its intricate carving repulsed him. There was an evil clinging to the coin-thing that felt like its depths went deep into a blackness so dark no light would ever illuminate it.

He wondered if telling Morgana that Arthur knew about his magic and had accepted him anyway would forestall whatever she was planning, but then again Arthur had said those words when he believed Merlin was dying. It was possible the king had no intention of permanently changing his attitude to sorcery. Merlin tested the ropes again but they held tight.

“The Fomorroh is a creature of dark magic. It will suck the life force out of you and everything that makes you Merlin will be gone.”

 _Yup, that sounds bad_. There was no way out of this other than to use his own sorcery. He could only hope there would be a familiar word or gesture in her enchantment he could twist to his purpose. At least his strength had begun to return despite a few twinges from the area of the wound.

Merlin listened attentively to every word she uttered as Morgana added powders and liquids in a specific order to the bowl on the burning hearth. When she pronounced the final words of the conjuring as she tossed the round object into the metal bowl, Merlin quietly threw his own spell into the mix, hoping he had correctly interpreted the incantation.

There was a flash so brilliant they both flinched. Being closer to the hearth which exploded in flame, Morgana took the brunt of the blast. Before she could pick herself up from among the broken bits of pottery where a shelf had broken her fall, Merlin used his magic to loosen the bonds around his wrists and bolted for the crude plank door.

He made it from the hut to the nearest tree of the surrounding forest before a powerful blast of magic hit him from behind, throwing him several paces forward to land gasping on the ground. Quickly he flipped over onto his back to see Morgana coming at him with a dagger in her hand.

“You really are a thorn in my side.”

She tossed the dagger toward him, smiling coldly as he scrambled backwards on all fours across the ground with the dagger floating after him aimed inexorably at his throat. When his back came up against the rough bark of a tree trunk he stopped, the dagger at his neck, hanging in the air.

“For a serving-boy you are the most troublesome …” Morgana paused. She paled, then her face coloured a furious red. “Emrys.”

When his blast of magic threw her backward, the dagger dropped harmlessly to the ground. Gingerly, he got to his feet and went to see how badly she was hurt. Dried leaves and twigs had tangled in her knotted hair and tatty dress. Her head lolled. He held out his hand but hesitated to kill her.

In his moment of doubt, her eyes glowed golden and the dagger lifted itself from the ground to fly at him. When Merlin ducked, his attention on the blade, Morgana seized the opportunity to blast him with another burst of magic.

This time he could barely catch his breath when he landed, unable to get up as he watched her painfully rise to her feet. The healing wound in his chest throbbed in protest. Prostrate, he began chanting the most powerful incantation he knew. An unnatural wind circled around Morgana, gaining momentum, gathering deadfall as it blew faster and faster. Slowly Merlin stood, still chanting.

Morgana raised a hand, fearfully trying to ward off the spell closing around her. She coughed in the storm of dust, blinking furiously, unable to stop the incantation from sweeping her up. The mini-cyclone lifted into the air in a swirl of leaves and dirt, taking Morgana up with it.

When he finished the incantation, Merlin dropped to his knees, exhausted. Then he dragged himself to his feet. If his spell had not killed her, he would be too weak to ward off any counter-attack she might make. He ran in whatever direction his legs took him, not stopping until finally he tripped on a tree root and skidded down a sharp embankment to land face first in a bog. The smell of rotting vegetation enveloped him.

He lay motionless for a moment taking stock of his surroundings. Thankfully on his wild dash through the forest there had been no sign of the mercenaries who had relentlessly searched this area two days ago – was it three? how long had it been? – or the bandits who made the Valley of the Fallen Kings a semi-permanent home.

Merlin’s arms felt like rubber when he tried to hoist himself back to his feet and he collapsed again into the peat. Spitting out bits of moss, he wiped dirty hands across his face to clear his vision as best he could and looked for a place to crawl out of the hole he had fallen into. As he heaved himself up, he heard approaching riders. Hoping he had not found the mercenaries after all, or stumbled into a group of bandits, Merlin waited until a shout indicated his last exhausted gasp for breath had been heard.

“Declare yourself.”

Reasoning that he had little other choice at this point and hoping he was right about having recognized that voice, Merlin crawled out of the bog and got to his feet. He stumbled out of the clump of brush to where he had a clear view of the person who had shouted, standing with sword drawn and pointed directly at him.

Arthur’s eyes widened when he saw the figure covered in peat emerge from the bog. “Merlin! I thought we’d lost you!” Driving the point of his sword into the ground, Arthur wrapped his friend in a hug, rotting vegetation and all.

Merlin wondered if shock would kill him after everything he had just survived.

Standing next to their horses, Gwaine breathed a sigh of relief to see Merlin alive and well.

“Where have you been?” Arthur demanded. “We’ve been scouring this forest for three days!”

Merlin hesitated before he answered truthfully, “Morgana’s hut.” The look of wariness which flashed across Arthur’s face at the implication of any association with his sister made Merlin add hurriedly, “Whatever she was planning I stopped her.”

There was little in the world that Arthur genuinely feared, but his sister was the one person whose power he dreaded. Her betrayal and the depth of her hatred had destroyed his father and almost crushed him, and Merlin wondered what the king’s reaction would be to Merlin’s admission that he had faced her alone and walked away.

He saw the king swallow his instinctive fear and distrust of such power. “Where is she?”

Merlin turned to point in the direction he thought he had come from, then hesitated. He looked around but was not certain exactly where it was he had stumbled into the bog.

At the confused look on Merlin’s face, Arthur gave a resigned sigh. “Direction really isn’t your strong point, is it?”

***

Agravaine spurred his horse on, barely glancing around as he took the familiar route to Morgana’s hut, his heavy black cloak billowing behind him as he rode. The news he had was hardly urgent but he hoped Morgana would consider it a reasonable excuse for him to see her. He was uncomfortably aware that she knew how anxious he was to spend every moment he could in her company.

On his arrival he found it oddly silent inside the hovel. He looked around, not certain why he thought something was amiss until he noted the disarray around the raised hearth. An overturned bowl had apparently been thrown through the air, a shelf was knocked down, and there had been an explosion in the hearth. Agravaine quickly searched the single room, his fear growing when there was no sign of Morgana.

He paused on the threshold of the hut, his eyes probing the wooded area all around. Her horse was stabled and fed, so she could not have gone any distance. Agravaine circled the area around the hut in ever-widening loops, following any path that appeared to have been recently used.

Not far into the woods he saw evidence of a struggle: broken branches and a dagger laying on the ground. When his eyes lighted on Morgana’s motionless form atop a heap of twigs and leaves and covered in dirt, he thought for a moment she was dead. Chilled to the bone that she might be lost to him forever, he rushed to her side, scrambling down a steep embankment to tenderly turn her face toward his. She was breathing. He lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the hut, laying her down carefully on her cot below the small window. He covered her with a blanket and stroked her cheek, then went to stir up the fire, hoping against hope she would soon open her eyes or show some other sign of life.

As time passed, Agravaine began to wonder if he dared stay much longer. His presence in the palace might be missed, yet he was reluctant to leave Morgana as she was. Just when he concluded he had no choice but to leave and return to her hut later that night, Morgana’s eyelids fluttered and she cried out.

Agravaine rushed to her side. “Morgana!” he exclaimed. “What happened to you?”

Morgana sat up, staring into space as if seeing demons, not speaking or giving any indication she knew he was there.

“Morgana, who did this to you?” Agravaine asked more forcefully.

“Emrys,” she muttered, cringing.

Agravaine wondered if she was actually awake and remembering what had happened or lost in some nightmare. He took her hand, waiting until she focused on him. Her beautiful green eyes seemed too big in her pale face.

“The old man, he was here?” It was dangerous for Morgana’s nemesis to show up so close to Camelot, but anyone who caused her even a moment of unease must be daring enough to flout the kingdom’s laws against sorcerers.

As colour returned to her cheeks, the fear in her expression changed to anger. “Merlin,” she snarled.

“Did Emrys help him escape?”

Morgana glared at her companion, saw he was holding her hand, and snatched it back. “Merlin _is_ Emrys,” she snapped.

For a moment Agravaine was certain he had heard incorrectly, then it all fell into place. He had known Gaius was lying when the old man claimed not to know who Emrys was. In a way, Agravaine admired the boy’s ability to deceive everyone, especially that bastard King Uther and his arrogant son; it was impressive actually, a sorcerer living at court right under their noses. Yet Merlin had never given the slightest hint of disloyalty to Arthur and he was clearly a threat to Morgana. “I will take care of Merlin, my lady.”

Morgana looked at him disdainfully. “You?” she sneered. “He’s a sorcerer. You would be extremely lucky if you survived the attempt.”

Agravaine pulled back and squared his shoulders, flicking an errant lock of black hair back from his face. He thought her expression held a hint of admiration for her enemy and none for him, despite how he had already proved himself to her by deceiving Arthur into putting absolute faith in his uncle. Agravaine wanted to protest her dismissal of his ability to get rid of a servant, sorcerer or no, but the coldness in Morgana’s eyes dissuaded him from saying anything. He had learned not to argue with her. “I must get back to Camelot. I have been gone too long already.”

Morgana’s cool gaze flicked to him. “Then you should go. If you draw any suspicion on yourself I really don’t know what use I’d have for you.”

Chagrined at her lack of appreciation for his tender care, Agravaine took his leave, resolved to show her he could indeed deal with Merlin. Then maybe she would look at him with admiration if not with affection.

***

The trio stopped at the first farm house which promised a well, both Arthur and Gwaine taking pleasure in “helping” Merlin clean up by dumping water on him. He was soaked through every layer of clothing when they were done but at least the smelly peat was washed away.

“Can you wave a magic wand and conjure yourself dry?” Gwaine taunted.

Merlin seriously considered summoning a wind strong enough to dry himself off and blow the both of them across the farmyard, but he was too tired and hungry. With luck, Gaius would have a meal ready. Assuming he was allowed to return to Camelot.

When Merlin made no response to the taunt, Gwaine regarded him thoughtfully. For a moment Merlin feared the dark-haired knight intended to lift him bodily onto the horse, soaking wet clothes and all, but Gwaine merely mounted and offered his friend a hand up behind him.

As anxious as Merlin was to get back home, he really did not know what his situation was now. The laws against sorcery and sorcerers remained in place and Arthur must have found another manservant – there was no way he could have gotten by these past several weeks without someone to dress him. On top of that, if Morgana was not dead then she would be planning her next attack, only she would be targeting Merlin especially, likely with assistance from Arthur’s trusted uncle. Merlin wondered if Arthur would listen to him if he voiced any suspicion about Agravaine but he decided against making the attempt. Better to wait and find out if he was truly welcome back in Camelot or if this was just a temporary reprieve.

When the two horses with their three riders approached the city gates, Merlin tensed and glanced at Arthur’s back. Gwaine looked over his shoulder, followed Merlin’s gaze, and then raised his eyebrows as if surprised Merlin had any doubt about his welcome into Camelot.

They rode into the palace courtyard. Arthur took one glance at Merlin and suggested he go straight to Gaius so the physician could ensure his injuries were healed and Merlin could get food and rest.

Gratefully, Merlin nodded, barely keeping his feet under him as he dropped from the horse and took the opportunity to head for the physician’s quarters. He was relieved to find the old man in his workroom with the smells of a stew wafting through the air.

“Gaius!”

The physician wrapped his ward in a hug. “I’m glad to see you, my boy. Are you all right?” He stepped back and looked his ward up and down. “When Arthur returned from the bandit attack he said you had been wounded, and there has been no sign of you for days. Where were you hurt?”

Merlin indicated the place where the mace had smashed into his chest.

Gaius motioned the young man to sit and immediately began an examination. “But this wound is well healed; it could have taken place weeks ago, not days.” The physician looked at his ward, waiting for an explanation.

“Morgana healed it.” Merlin watched those words sink in.

“And why would Morgana do such a thing?”

“Do you know what a Fomorroh is?” The look on his guardian’s face answered his question.

Gaius asked with forced casualness, “What about a Fomorroh?”

“Morgana was about to conjure it. I had to use magic to stop her.”

“Are you sure she never summoned it?” Gaius pressed.

Merlin correctly interrupted the wary look as concern that Morgana’s plan had succeeded and Merlin was either unaware what he was saying or outright lying due to her influence. “I am sure,” he promised. “What would have happened if she had conjured it, whatever it is?”

“The Fomorroh was used by the high priestesses to enslave victims. It takes over the person’s mind until the victim is utterly consumed by whatever task the priestess has set.”

“Oh.” Merlin considered the implications. “That probably would have been bad.”

“How did you stop her?” Gaius asked.

“I recognized a few words of the incantation, so I cast my own spell in with it to destroy the creature instead of summon it. Then there was an explosion and I ran for the door.”

Apparently satisfied that Merlin had come out of his encounter unscathed and free of Morgana’s trickery, Gaius voiced his next concern. “Did Morgana realize you used magic?”

Merlin nodded. “She knows,” he said.

“Well, we’ll have to be on our guard then, won’t we?” Gaius sighed.


	5. Her Father’s Daughter

As soon as he opened his eyes the next morning, Arthur knew something had changed. It took a moment to remember: Merlin was back and he was all right. The heavy weight of worry that had overshadowed the last days, actually the last several weeks, was lifted. Smiling to himself, Arthur glanced over at the sideboard where Merlin normally put a breakfast tray only to see a banquet laid out. How could he have forgotten?

“Good morning, Sire,” George greeted him. “I have selected your clothes, there is a slight chill in the air today.” George emphasized this last observation with a sniff. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

Arthur berated himself for his feeling of disappointment. Of course things were not going to go back to the way they had been just because Merlin had returned to Camelot. There was the matter of him being a sorcerer which was undeniably a crime. In fact, now that Arthur was aware that Camelot had been the most dangerous place for Merlin to live, the king had to wonder why the boy stayed at all and why he was willing to come back now. Their first meeting would hardly have encouraged him to risk his life by staying in the city, yet he had. And apparently he had stayed nearby even during these past few weeks, though where that was Arthur had no idea. Merlin had even followed the king and his soldiers to their confrontation with Queen Annis. He was clearly better at stealth than Arthur would ever have given him credit for.

Now that he thought about it, Arthur realized there were a lot of unexplained absences on the part of his former servant that had probably never involved a tavern at all. He wondered if sorcerers went to taverns. It was obvious they could get drunk; Merlin was always the first one in his cups, any one of the maids could drink him under the table, yet he never had a hangover after his absences. So what _had_ Merlin been up to all those times? What had gone on that Arthur himself had been – and was still – completely unaware of?

The questions he had put off during the past days of worry and searching circled around his mind as he went through the routine of dressing and eating breakfast until the duties and responsibilities of the day crowded out any other thoughts.

***

Merlin’s spoon idly carved a path through his gruel.

“Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?” Gaius asked.

Even having heard Gaius speak, it took a second for the young man to realize he had been asked a question. “What?”

“I asked what was on your mind.”

“I was just thinking.”

“You know how bad that is for you.”

Merlin ignored the jibe. “I was thinking I need to keep a close eye on Morgana to know what she’s planning and to do that I need to find her hut.”

“You said you couldn’t find that hovel again.”

“Not on my own,” Merlin said. “But Agravaine knows exactly where she is, I’m certain.”

“He’s not likely to tell you where to find Morgana, and there’s no point going to the king about his uncle. You’ve seen how dear the man is to Arthur.”

Merlin knew how true that was. He swallowed down a stab of hurt at the ease with which Arthur’s noble uncle had gained his absolute trust. “I could follow Agravaine.”

“You cannot follow him! It would be far too dangerous. He will be on his guard any time he meets with Morgana and if he realizes you’re following, he will inform her.”

“There must be a way to trace him without his knowing.” Merlin waited expectantly.

Gaius drew a deep breath and then his forbidding expression abruptly faded. “Where is that book I gave you?”

Merlin fetched the book of magic from its secret hiding place in his room. Probably there was no need to be so careful about it now. “I don’t remember any spell in the book that could track a person’s movements.”

“It’s not in the book, or at least not as part of the book,” Gaius said as he flipped through several scraps of parchment slipped in between various pages.

Bits and pieces of anything that could be used to write on, in varying stages of decay, had been tucked inside the volume. Some of the writings must be older than Gaius himself, and probably copied from even older sources.

“I’m sure he gave me the recipe, and I put it in here.”

“Recipe?”

“An old friend of mine, old when I was a boy myself, and a bit senile,” Gaius said. “A brilliant sorcerer but his sense of direction was as bad as yours.”

Merlin sniffed.

“He lived in a shack in the woods and he could never find his way back when he went for a walk so he developed this potion.” While he was speaking Gaius apparently found the scrap he was looking for. The scribbles on it were in large, uneven handwriting. “He drank it before he left the hut, then when he got lost all he had to do was speak an incantation and he would be able to retrace his path home.”

“Does that mean I have to get Agravaine to drink a potion?”

“Well, yes,” Gaius said.

Merlin considered everything he knew about the inner workings of the palace kitchen. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

***

Merlin remained concealed near the palace stables until Agravaine came for his mount. It was possible the man had honest business that required a trip out of the city, but it was more likely he was on his way to visit Morgana. If all had gone to plan and he had already drunk the potion along with his wine, the spell would reveal exactly which direction he went even after he was out of sight.

After Agravaine was well on his way, Merlin mounted and followed. Where the road left the city, he quietly pronounced the words of the incantation: _Beo þu leohte bewunden._ No one else on the busy road appeared to notice anything, but Merlin could see a glowing shimmer stretched like a golden carpet, showing clearly which way Agravaine had gone. Merlin spurred his horse in the same direction.

He was nearly to the door of the hut before he saw the crude building sheltered in a gulley surrounded by thick forest. Thankful he had been moving slowly and that his horse was trained to be quiet, he quickly reigned in. He tethered his horse where it would not be heard or seen and then found a concealed spot at the top of a steep embankment with a good view of the shack’s main door. While he waited and watched, he saw Agravaine take his leave of Morgana.

***

Agravaine was pleased with himself. Morgana had been satisfied that Helios was ready to fulfill his part of their alliance. This time when Agravaine left her, Morgana gave him a look of satisfaction as she saw him off.

His cheerful mood lasted until he returned to Camelot. He dismounted and glanced quickly around the stable, ensured no one else was in sight, then gestured for his man to approach. “Anything amiss?”

“No one knows you were gone, milord,” the man assured Agravaine. “In fact, no one has been to the stable for a mount except the king’s servant.”

That seemed odd to Agravaine; George would have no reason to leave the city. Unless the man meant … Agravaine’s dark brow creased. “Who was here and when?”

“Merlin left the city shortly after you did,” the man said, taken aback at the urgent tone of the question.

“Where was he going?” Agravaine snapped.

“He headed in the same direction you had gone, but you were well out of sight before he did.”

That piece of information provided only fleeting reassurance. Agravaine was certain he had not been followed, but the boy was a sorcerer, who knew what he was capable of?

The solution, when it came to him, was so simple he wondered he had not thought of it before. Slipping the appropriate coins into his spy’s hand, Agravaine headed for the palace.

He was directed to the royal chamber where, as he had been advised, he found Arthur alone. The king responded to his knock by calling for him to enter and Agravaine gave a slight bow. “Sire.”

“Yes, Uncle, what is it?”

Arthur was seated in his usual chair at the table. Apparently he had been deep in thought because he had tilted the chair slightly with one knee propped against the table and his fingers had been drumming the table top.

“Arthur, I know you have been plagued by the idea that there is a traitor in Camelot who gave away your secret route to Morgana which nearly resulted in the deaths of you and your knights at the hands of those mercenaries.”

“I wish I could deny it,” Arthur said, his eyes locked on Agravaine’s face.

“We have to consider everyone – even those dearest to us. No one can be above suspicion.”

Arthur gestured for his uncle to continue.

“Somebody is plotting against you and it is my duty to investigate every possibility, however unlikely.” Having built up himself as the trusted adviser, Agravaine determined it was time to strike the blow. “It is Merlin.” Agravaine recognized the disbelieving look in Arthur’s eyes and hurriedly continued. “I know what you are thinking, but Gaius knew your route, and there is another piece of information which I think you will find enlightening.” Here the older man paused for dramatic effect, watching his nephew’s expression to gauge his reaction. “Merlin is a sorcerer.”

Agravaine was disappointed by the king’s lack of response to that news. If anything, it appeared that the younger man was sceptical of his uncle instead of his deceptive former servant.

Quietly and deliberately Arthur asked, “How would you know that?”

Agravaine had not expected such a question. His calm, wise countenance almost slipped as he thought quickly; he could hardly admit that Morgana had informed him. Before he could respond, Arthur’s next words confirmed Agravaine’s worst fears.

“You are right, I have been looking into how the mercenaries discovered our route through the forest. None of the knights had the opportunity to betray me. I have questioned the councillors, only three were aware of the treaty. Of those, none but yourself knew of the route I was planning to take.”

“Are you seriously thinking that I …”

Arthur cut him off mid-sentence. “It gives me no joy to doubt you, Uncle.” He emphasized the title as if it were an accusation.

“Then let me reassure you that you have no reason to doubt. You are all that is left of my dear sister. If I betray you, Arthur, I betray her, and that I will never do.” Agravaine put all the passion he could muster into his profession of loyalty, satisfied by the look in Arthur’s eyes that he had wavered in his suspicion of his uncle. The momentary panic subsided as a brilliant idea popped into Agravaine’s mind. “I know for certain Merlin has betrayed you, my lord. I followed him.”

Arthur looked taken aback. “Where?”

“He went directly to Morgana. He may even still be there.” Although it did not show in his expression, Agravaine was pleased with the shocked look on his nephew. This had worked out even better than he had planned.

“Then you can guide us to Morgana.”

That Agravaine could not do, at least not yet; he had not anticipated how quickly Arthur would jump into action. Agravaine needed time to give Morgana a warning before Arthur’s troops showed up at her door. “It would not be safe right now,” he hedged. “The two of them together would be formidable. Wait until Merlin is back and then we can question him.” And Agravaine intended to steer that interrogation in the direction he desired.

“You are right, Uncle.”

Agravaine was relieved. Typically when his arrogant nephew set his mind on something there was no stopping him, like his determination to make a fool of himself with that maidservant. “After the lies and years of deceit, there can be no doubt that Merlin is the traitor,” Agravaine stated forcefully. “Your life is at stake, we cannot afford to be faint-hearted. I will make preparations for the interrogation, shall I?”

“Yes, do whatever you need to,” Arthur said.

Satisfied with the outcome of their meeting, Agravaine left the king alone.

***

As soon as his uncle left, Arthur paced across the room and back. He could not believe Agravaine’s accusation but at the same time it had been made clear to him that Merlin was an accomplished liar. He had successfully hid his secret for years, so well that, as far as Arthur knew, no one had even suspected the young man of having magic, even when the Witchfinder accused him, even when Merlin himself confessed to Uther’s entire Council. Maybe Merlin had lied about knowing where to find Morgana to cover up his association with her, or maybe he was protecting her for reasons of his own. For a moment Arthur hesitated over the wisdom of undertaking his investigation alone, then he resolved to learn the truth himself, whatever the cost.

***

Having found Morgana’s hut, Merlin wondered what he was going to do next. That she intended to make another attempt to kill Arthur and take the throne of Camelot was without doubt; how and when were the questions he needed answers for. He could not stay here indefinitely to watch her, although when he thought about he had no other job currently.

As the hours slipped by, Merlin debated how long he could remain concealed so near Morgana’s front door. The sun crept across the sky, lengthening the shadows of the trees. Then a chill feeling crawled across Merlin’s skin which he was certain had nothing to do with the temperature in the air. The hair on his nape stood up and he stared intently at the hut, wishing he could see through the walls. Something was going on in there and it was not good.

***

For once Morgana had been gratified by a visit from that fawning fool, Agravaine. With Morgause and Cenred dead and their entire army wiped out, Morgana had not known where she would get the military might to take and hold Camelot. In the days and weeks and months since her sister’s death, their shared goal of taking Camelot had fallen heavily on Morgana’s shoulders alone. Her despair when Morgause’s final gift to her – releasing the Dorocha – ended in her own defeat was deepened by the disappointments that followed; an endless round of negotiations and rejections from possible allies, running and hiding and trying to convince those with armies to support her bid for her father’s kingdom, thwarted by Emrys at every turn.

Annis had told her in no uncertain terms their alliance was over. Morgana’s hand shook and the writing on the page she held blurred. The gall of that woman to accuse her of being like Uther. Gorlois was her father in all but blood; Uther’s only contribution was his seed. Which gave her a claim to his throne. But she needed an army to back up that claim. She had contacted both Odin and Bayard but neither would have anything to do with her. She had even considered approaching the Saxons but, although they would support an invasion, they would just as soon take Camelot for themselves along with all the lands across to the western shore, an outcome that did not suit Morgana.

The news that Helios was willing – eager, even, according to Agravaine – to support her bid to take over the kingdom was welcome indeed. Helios was capable of providing a sufficient fighting force, as long as Agravaine gave him a way in to the citadel and her claim to the throne lent legitimacy to the coup. Her biggest hurdle now was removing Arthur’s main protection and her mortal enemy: Emrys. And she had discovered the perfect tool for that, something so powerful not even Emrys could stop it.

 _Merlin_. Not a worthless servant after all. She had performed every step of the ritual to summon the Fomorroh correctly, then Merlin’s incredible luck had saved him from another impossible situation. She had known two years ago when he showed up back in Camelot that there was no way he could have escaped Morgause’s chains, and even if he had he could not have avoided the serkets’ deadly poison while fleeing. Yet he had. And he had destroyed the hawthorn staff which raised the army of the dead even though Morgause had said its magic was powerful. Now Morgana knew luck had little to do with it. She understood, too, how Morgause had been stopped from protecting the Cup of Life full of the blood of an immortal army.

Memories flashed through Morgana’s mind. She remembered Merlin’s words from conversations they had had: “I really wish there was something I could say,” “Maybe I could help – I doubt that – You’d be surprised,” “I don’t feel so alone here, do you understand? – Better than anyone,” “You don’t have magic, Merlin, how could you hope to understand? – I do understand, believe me.” She remembered looking up as Emrys stood over her while she lay winded on the blanked of dried leaves covering the ground outside her hovel. He had held out a hand as though to finish her off, but then hesitated at whatever he saw in her eyes. She had taken the opportunity to strike back but it had not been enough to defeat him. She was a High Priestess, yet he had survived her attack when she had not been able to withstand his powerful spell.

She wondered if part of her had sensed that power in him long ago and that was why he had been so … noticeable. In all her years living in the palace she could not recall the name of any other of Arthur’s servants. One had even lasted over a year before Arthur tired of tormenting the boy and demanded a servant with “more spine.” She vaguely recalled red hair but nothing else about him.

Morgana’s hands stilled over the ancient writings she was studying, remembering how she had thought Merlin was enamoured of her when now she knew it was only about magic; he must have sympathized with her. _Why hadn’t he said something?_ Why had he chosen Arthur over her? Had he even protected her false father, that lying tyrant who would have killed either of them without a second thought? Merlin had known what she was going through but he had not said the words that would have eased her fear and loneliness. Maybe he pitied the meagre stirrings her power had been then compared to what she had felt when he turned his enchantment on her. Well, this would show him what she could do now.

Morgana hesitated – the warnings that accompanied every instruction on this summoning were dire and it required more power than anything she had attempted before, even when she had Morgause’s assistance and guidance.Morgana gathered up what she would need, then consulted her various charts. The time was close.

***

Merlin waited tensely, debating whether to confront Morgana directly, get help, or just run from whatever sent a shiver up his spine. A scream came from inside the hut, the sound of pure terror spurring him to action. The embankment was too steep to descend, so he circled around as hastily as he could, rushing to the crude plank door of the shack and throwing it open.

Briefly he wondered if Morgana knew he was here after all and the whole charade was a trap, but the sight that met his eyes shocked him into immobility. A huge serpent with at least five heads that he could count towered over Morgana, two of its jaws open wide with saliva dripping on the floor. The drips sizzled where they fell, burning holes in the rough-hewn wood laid down over the dirt floor. Morgana cradled her left arm. Her sleeve was ripped and the skin showing through looked as though it had been scorched with acid.

In one desperate, lightning-fast move a sword sprang into Morgana’s hand and she swiped at the head nearest her. The serpent-creature hissed from one of its other mouths as the severed head fell at Morgana’s feet, but as she backed away from the monster the stump of neck rippled and flexed until two more heads grew out. In terror she dropped the sword, but before she could attempt to escape two of its heads snapped at her, forked tongues flicking.

Gathering his power, Merlin sent a blast of magic at the serpent. It recoiled and turned its attention from the woman in front of it to the man at the door. Desperately, he looked for something he could use to kill the monster. Merlin circled behind the creature, keeping one eye on the hideous snake while searching the crowded shelves and it coiled its body to follow his movements.

Morgana took the opportunity to bolt for the door. One of the creature’s serpent heads lashed out at her, catching her heel as she sprinted outside, then she was gone.

All five heads now focused on Merlin. His eyes fell on the weapon Morgana had dropped. Using the spell which had defeated the griffin and the questing beast, Merlin enchanted the sword and launched it at the creature. “ _Fléoge!_ _Bregdan anweald gafeluc!_ ”

The blade buried itself in the serpent’s body, causing it to emit a sibilant sound of pain, but did not kill the creature. With a venomous hiss, the monster slithered out the door of the hut.

Merlin approached the door guardedly. When he peered out, there was no sign of the creature. Morgana’s sword lay where it had fallen from the beast, or at least the hilt lay where it had fallen; the jagged stump was white as though its blade has been dissolved in acid. Wisps of smoke drifted up from tiny burning clumps of twigs and leaves trailing away into the surrounding woods.

The creature had not followed Morgana’s limping tracks. She had not gotten far. When Merlin caught up with her, she had collapsed to the ground, nursing her heel and cradling her wounded arm. The skin on her arm was blistered and the bite mark on her heel had turned an angry red which Merlin knew indicated venom had infected the wound.

“Help me,” Morgana begged.

Merlin ignored her plea. “What was that creature?”

“It could come back at any time,” Morgana said. “Please, you have to help me.”

“What was it?” Merlin asked again without moving.

“A Hydra,” Morgana said hesitantly.

“Where did it come from?”

Morgana’s eyes darted around the woods which surrounded them and came back to rest on Merlin’s implacable expression. “I summoned it.”

“Then you can get rid of it.”

The frightened look on her face deepened. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Merlin was so angry he wanted to shake her. “You conjured something you can’t control or get rid of?”

“I thought I could control it,” Morgana pleaded. “I was wrong.”

Merlin refrained from asking why she had summoned the monster; he knew beyond doubt she intended that nightmare creature to kill him and she would not care if anyone else got in its way except herself. “You are going to stop that thing before another person is hurt.”

“I will, but you have to help me first.” Morgana emphasized her claim by attempting to stand. The injured foot gave way. “I cannot even walk!”

Although it seemed poetic justice to leave her to the fate she had planned for him, Merlin was aware that he did in fact need her help. He had no knowledge of a Hydra, and there was no time to go all the way back to Camelot and consult Gaius before this monster attacked someone else. “What do you need me to do?”

“I have a collection of medicines in my hut. I’ll need –”

“Gaius has taught me enough to know what potions are necessary for burns and for venom, but I don’t think those will be strong enough for these wounds.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Morgana said. “Just bring me the remedies.”

Merlin looked carefully in every direction as he returned to the hut. The Hydra had not come back, but Merlin wasted no time in gathering what Morgana would need and hurrying back to her.

She waited where he had left her, her eyes closed and her face pale. At Merlin’s approach she held out her hand for the medicines.

“ _Ge hailige_ ,” she whispered as she applied the salves. “ _Licsar ge staðol nu_.”

Merlin watched as Morgana used the same remedies Gaius would have used in the circumstances, but her incantations enhanced the effectiveness of the potions and sped the healing. He had to admit she had a talent for healing magic that he did not.

When she was done, she waited only a minute before she got gingerly to her feet and took a few steps. She brushed her torn sleeve to cover the burned arm as best she could.

“Now we find this thing and get rid of it,” Merlin said.

“Of course.” Morgana gestured with her arm. “Lead the way.”

He almost did as she asked before he realized how unwise it would be to turn his back to her. “No, after you. I wouldn’t want you to run away in fright.” A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Which are you more afraid of, facing the Hydra or spending time in my company?”

“I fear no one, least of all you.” With only a slight limp, Morgana retraced their steps to the hut.

She was not entirely able to conceal the shudder that went through her at the sight of the serpent’s trail marked by the stump of sword, but resolutely began following the track.

“How do we kill it?” Merlin questioned as they walked.

“It will die if it has no heads.”

Merlin stopped. “But every time you sever one of the heads two more grow back. How can it ever be decapitated?”

Morgana glanced back at him but did not stop walking. “I don’t know.”

“Great,” he muttered.

He kept his eyes fixed on her back; he knew she was using him as a shield and weapon for her against the Hydra. She would lead him to it and then take the first chance she got to let him and the Hydra destroy each other.

Their first indication of trouble ahead was an utter silence in the forest; no birds called, no small animals moved, the wind itself seemed to hide. Then came the smell of blood and burned flesh and the buzzing of flies.

Abandoning the cautious stealth they had been using, Merlin rushed ahead. It had been a bandit camp, but no one left there was alive. The remains of a fire smouldered in the centre of a cleared area. The bodies were marked with venomous bites and acid burns, some bloated and blackened by poison, dead eyes staring with a look of terror at the sky. Several abandoned weapons were scattered around the bodies along with a few severed serpent heads, indicating that the Hydra had several more heads now.

Merlin was struck by the horror of the destruction, but Morgana was disdainful of his distressed expression.

“They’re thieves and murderers. The Camelot patrol would have done the same given half a chance,” she said with a shrug.

He wondered how she could be so callous, even though what she said was true.

A sound like a human cry that had been muffled caught their attention. Both their heads turned towards a wagon standing at the edge of what had been the camp. Thinking someone here might be alive after all, Merlin approached the wagon, checking under and behind it before he looked into the box. The faces of two children looked back at him: a boy lying on a bed at the far end up against the driver’s seat and a girl with her hand on his mouth to keep him quiet. At the sight of another human, albeit a stranger, the girl closed her other hand on a ball of fire which had burned in her palm yet left no mark on her skin.

“Are you hurt?” Merlin asked.

The dark-haired girl shook her head.

Morgana had drawn close enough to look keenly at the boy lying in the cluttered wagon. “What’s wrong with his leg?”

Merlin looked from her to the thin blond boy. He had not noticed before, but the child’s leg was misshapen. Now that he looked closer, it appeared the wagon bed was the boy’s home.

“It didn’t grow right,” the girl said. She seemed to be eleven or twelve years of age and the older of the two.

“What happened here?” Merlin asked as sympathetically as he could given the urgency of their need to find out anything that could help them defeat the Hydra.

This time the girl remained silent and her eyes filled with tears.

The boy spoke for the first time. “Daddy and the uncles were killed, but my sister saved us,” he said, gazing proudly at the girl despite his tears which mirrored her own.

The girl clamped her hand over the boy’s mouth again and shook her head vigorously. The boy seemed to realize he had given away something he should not and his face fell.

“Did she use magic?” Merlin asked.

Morgana’s gaze snapped to the girl.

“It’s all right,” Merlin went on. “I promise no harm will come to you. Either of you. We need to know how to stop the monster that attacked your camp.”

The girl gazed back at them doubtfully. Then she turned to her brother as if searching his eyes for guidance on whether to trust these strangers. Finally, she removed her hand from his mouth and began to speak so softly Merlin had to strain to hear her.

“It came out of the woods, a huge serpent only it had so many heads I couldn’t count them, and Daddy swung me into the wagon with my brother and grabbed his hatchet.” She swallowed hard. “I peeked out and I saw one of the uncles chop a head off the thing only two more heads grew back and the uncle threw his sword on the ground and tried to run but the thing bit him and he screamed. Then the serpent thing came right up to the wagon and Daddy swung his hatchet and chopped one of its heads off and I don’t know why but I,” she glanced at her brother before she continued, “I called a ball of fire and threw it at the creature and it burned the stump where the head had been and nothing grew back.” The tears spilled over again. “But another head bit Daddy and he screamed and before he could run away another head breathed on him and he fell down, then his skin bubbled and turned black.”

Merlin did not turn to look at the body on the ground beside the wagon but Morgana did.

“One of the heads opened its mouth and hissed at us but then another of the uncles attacked and it turned away. After all the screaming stopped my brother and I kept quiet and waited here.”

“It was smart of you to cauterize the neck stump,” Merlin said. That might be the key to defeating this thing.

Brushing past him where he stood next to the wagon, Morgana clambered into the box and took the girl’s hands. “Where is your mother?”

The dark-haired girl muttered, “She’s dead.”

“Did she have magic, too?” Morgana questioned, an intensity in her eyes causing the girl to drop her gaze and nod without saying the words aloud.

“After she was executed, Daddy thought it would be safer for us here, so we came to live with the uncles.” The girl glanced up to see how the strange woman would react to her admission.

From her position in the back of the wagon, Morgana could see the entire area of the bandit camp, the bodies of the criminals and vagabonds, the discarded weapons, and the corpse of the girl’s father. Morgana looked at the little blond boy, then moved closer to examine his deformed leg.

“Mother had a potion that made the leg better for a while but I don’t know how to use it properly,” the girl confessed sadly.

“Can you show it to me?” Morgana asked.

The girl dug into the pile of items heaped along the side of the wagon and produced a small container.

Morgana opened the bottle, sniffed it, then touched a drop to her finger. She poured a small amount into her palm and rubbed it along the boy’s exposed knee and calf, speaking an incantation as she did so. Under her touch the bones straightened and lengthened, the malformed leg growing to match the other in size and shape.

Merlin watched in amazement.

When she had finished, Morgana laid her hand on the boy’s head. He stared up at her in awe. The girl threw her arms around Morgana, who stiffened and flushed.

Morgana returned the hug and said quietly, “I’m sorry for what happened here.”

“It wasn’t your fault that monster attacked us,” the girl said.

Morgana did not respond as she pulled away from the embrace. “Will you be all right here by yourselves?”

The girl straightened where she sat. “The uncles will be back soon,” she said. “They’ll take care of us.”

“You are a brave girl.” Morgana looked back at the two children, then resolutely dropped to the ground. “We’ll need these.” She collected two mostly clean swords from the ground where they had been abandoned and snatched up a hatchet as well. She handed one of the weapons to Merlin.

The serpent’s trail was not hard to pick up once they had circled the camp to find where it had slithered back into the woods.

Merlin watched Morgana’s stiff back as she marched ahead of him. Her attention to the two children had been the first time he caught a glimpse of the woman she had been before she discovered her magic. Certainly she had given no thought to the children in Camelot’s courtyard when she ordered Cenred’s soldiers to fire into the crowd of spectators watching her showdown with Leon and the other loyal knights. Perhaps because this girl had magic Morgana felt a tiny prick of conscience for summoning the Hydra.

“It isn’t entirely your fault that monster killed their father,” Merlin said. “You never intended it to attack their camp.”

At his words Morgana stopped and spun around. “No, it isn’t entirely my fault. If Uther had not executed their mother they would never have been forced to live with a bunch of bandits.”

Merlin made no response.

“Do you think Uther would have had me killed?” Morgana demanded.

Disconcerted by the suddenness of the question, Merlin looked away from her. “I don’t know.”

“I am asking what you think.” Her eyes were narrowed with impatience at his evasiveness. “If he had known I had magic, would he have executed his own daughter?”

As much as he wanted to avoid answering, knowing it would make her angrier, Merlin also knew she would not take another step without an honest response from him. “Yes, he would have,” he admitted. “But it’s different now,” he hastened to add.

“Is it?” Morgana said.

“It will be different,” Merlin amended. “Arthur will change things.”

Morgana snorted disbelievingly. “And that’s why you guarded your secret from him so carefully?”

 _Point taken_ , Merlin acknowledged silently. But he had been handed a chance to change things, to try to turn Morgana from her drive to take the throne. Her remorse for what happened to the children’s father that prompted her to heal the little boy, her empathy with the girl who was safest with a gang of thieves simply because she had magic, indicated Morgana was still the compassionate person he had known before. If he could convince her the kingdom would be safe for magic without further war, maybe there was a chance he could fulfill his destiny, that he and Arthur could build Albion, a place of peace. “Arthur knows now I have magic.”

“Does he?” Morgana said. “And what was his reaction?”

Merlin hesitated to say he had been banished and was not sure what Arthur intended to do about him now.

“I thought so,” she said as if his silence had answered her question. “Magic has no place in Camelot, not until I take the throne. As long as Arthur rules, you and I and people like us, like that girl back there, will spend our lives living in fear. Haven’t you learned that?”

The passion and conviction in her voice were compelling, the promise of immediate freedom under her rule from all the stealth, except he had witnessed her brief reign of terror as queen. Her single-minded focus on securing unquestioning obedience by force was a counterpoint to Uther’s purge two decades earlier. The people of Camelot had watched Morgana, with her sister sorceress at her side, give brutal commands which were carried out by an enchanted army, and the hatred and fear of sorcery Uther had nurtured for years had been cemented in people’s minds. There was no future for magic down the path Morgana would take.

“I believe in the kingdom Arthur will build; a kingdom that is just and fair for everyone, including those with magic,” Merlin said. “He will be a better and more worthy king than his father.”

She shook her head.

“If magic was no longer banned, if it were safe in Camelot for all of us, would you end this battle with Arthur?” Merlin asked, watching her reaction, hoping.

“You think he would do that? Are you really that naïve?”

He refused to think she was right and he was the fool for believing things would ever change.

“If Arthur changed the laws, would you make peace with him?” His heart thumped painfully in his chest.

“If that day comes, then ask me.” She spun on her heel and continued their quest.

Comforting himself that at least she had not given an unequivocal no, Merlin followed.

They almost walked into the bog Merlin had found himself in the previous day before he realized it. Morgana slipped on the steep embankment, catching herself at the last moment and bumping into him as she stepped back.

He caught her arms and peered over the edge. “This looks familiar,” he muttered to himself.

Morgana shook off his grip, then held up a hand for silence. “The Hydra is close.” She grasped the borrowed sword and hatchet.

“I’m ready for it,” Merlin said, his eyes fixed on Morgana. He wondered if she would abandon him yet, leaving him to the Hydra. “I’m not afraid. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure this monster does not cause any further harm.”

Her gaze snapped to his look of challenge and she lifted her chin higher. “I’m not afraid of this creature, either.”

“Good.” Merlin said. “I’ll sever as many heads as I can and you conjure a fire to burn the neck stumps.”

Morgana scoffed at that. “I will cut the heads off, you be ready with fire.” He opened his mouth to protest but she forestalled whatever he was about to say. “Who is better with a sword, you or me?”

Without another word Merlin scanned the area; there was plenty of deadfall to make a torch with. As he bent to collect a usable piece of wood, a hiss underscored how near the Hydra was.

They turned in unison to see the creature only a stone’s throw away and staring directly at them with six of its dozen or so serpent heads, forked tongues flicking in and out. They looked at each other as though each was daring the other to face the monster, then Morgana approached it first, swinging her borrowed sword expertly. Merlin lit the makeshift torch in his hand and followed on her heels.

She was careful to sever only one neck at a time, dancing in and out of reach, never letting her skirts hamper her movement, giving Merlin time to send fire to the cut stump before any more heads could grow back. She dodged the other heads while aiming for one, not allowing any of its tongues drip saliva on her skin. Once or twice a few drops landed on her dress, eating through the material and leaving a scorch mark.

They had successfully reduced the Hydra to eight vicious mouths when three of them simultaneously attacked Morgana while she was within reach. Merlin moved as fast as he was able, fending off one of the necks with his own sword and burning the severed stump which Morgana had sliced. The third head, however, was from the strong, central serpent body, thicker than the other necks and, Merlin realized, had not been used by the Hydra until this moment. The large central mouth opened wide to emit a noxious fume. Merlin covered his mouth with his neck scarf but Morgana was too close to the creature and she had no protection. With her next breath the poison entered her lungs and she crumpled to the ground, a black tinge creeping over her skin.

Using the spell which had driven the creature out of Morgana’s hut, Merlin enchanted the sword Morgana had held and hurled it at the serpent’s body. “ _Bregdan anweald gafeluc!_ ”

The Hydra hissed and slithered away from the woman on the ground. As soon as it did, a wall of flame sprang up to form a barrier between the two people and the monster. Merlin grabbed Morgana to drag her further away from the hideous serpent, under no illusion that the damage he had inflicted on the Hydra would give them more than a brief respite. He hefted Morgana’s inert body into his arms, groaning as the dead weight was heavier than he had anticipated, and moved quickly away from the vicious Hydra.

***

Arthur arrived at the bog where they had found Merlin, not certain himself what he intended to find here, only that there might be evidence to prove or disprove Merlin’s story of his escape from Morgana. Arthur’s eyes widened in shock at the sight which clearly proved the truth of Agravaine’s accusation: Merlin hurrying toward him carrying Morgana. So they were plotting together as Agravaine had said. Anger at the depth of the betrayal burned through Arthur as he drew his sword.

Merlin stopped in utter surprise to see Arthur standing alone in the woods, sword drawn with a furious expression on his face, then the sorcerer completely ignored the king.

Uncertain whether to attack or demand an explanation, Arthur watched as Merlin dropped to one knee and laid Morgana down to begin an enchantment.

“ _Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare_ ,” he intoned. Her laboured breathing smoothed and her skin, which had begun to blacken, turned back to its normal hue. Relief suffused his face until he lifted his head.

“Look out!”

Arthur was angry enough to ignore the shout except that Merlin’s eyes were focused on something much taller than the king himself. A hissing sound made him turn and look up at two mouths like gigantic serpents coming at him. Without hesitation he swung his blade and severed both heads.

“No!” Merlin grabbed the nearest fallen tree branch, lit it, and sent the fiery torch at the closest neck stump but the other immediately grew two more heads.

Arthur stared in disbelief and fell back a step.

“You chop, I’ll burn,” Merlin ordered, rushing up beside Arthur. “Only sever one of the heads at a time.”

Unsure what was going on but seeing clearly the battle which had to be fought, Arthur raised his sword again.

“And don’t let the centre head breathe on you,” Merlin added urgently. “Its breath is poison.”

“Great.”

“Take this.” Merlin tossed his neck scarf to Arthur who would be closer to the Hydra than he would. “Don’t let its mouth touch you, either, the saliva is like acid.”

Before there was time for another word, the creature lunged at them with three of its heads. Arthur neatly cleaved one off and avoided the other two, giving Merlin just enough time to burn the severed stump before chopping at the next. In short order only two heads were left.

The Hydra retreated, hissing as it slithered backward. Merlin called up another wall of fire, this time to keep the Hydra within their reach. In response, its thick centre head breathed out a plume of poison, forcing Arthur to cover his nose and mouth with the borrowed scarf. Merlin covered his face with his sleeve and called up a breeze to blow the noxious breath away from them both. Arthur slashed at a venomous mouth as it came at him and when Merlin cauterized the stump the king swung his blade expertly at the strong serpent body, decapitating it for good. The huge length crumpled to the ground. A smell like one of Gaius’s potions left on the burner too long exuded from the body.

“You did it!” Merlin exclaimed, then folded over in a fit of coughing.

As his battle fever cooled, Arthur felt fatigue set in. His arm dropped to his side. “We did it,” he corrected. “What was that?”

“A Hydra,” Merlin said, as if that explained anything. “Morgana conjured it.”

With the danger past, memory crashed back to remind Arthur why he was there. “You said you didn’t know where she was, but here you were together.”

“I had to find her, to find out what she was planning.”

Arthur looked at the body of the hideous serpent which stretched along the ground, easily the height of two men, severed heads scattered around it and deadfall smoking wherever the open mouths had landed. “And this is what she was planning? Was it meant to kill me in particular or just anyone it came across?”

“I think she intended for it to kill me,” Merlin said. “But it attacked her first.”

“You should have let it have her,” Arthur said coldly.

***

Merlin cringed at Arthur’s words. He had saved Morgana. Again. Even though he knew now how much pain and misery he would have saved so many people if he had let her die the last time he had that chance. It would have been better after all for the others to grieve for her and never know the truth. He had told himself he was moved by everyone’s anguish but the truth was that he could not stomach being her executioner a second time, it had broken his heart once and he had not been able to face that pain again. That was a sentiment he needed to put aside for all their sakes if he and Arthur were ever to build that kingdom of peace. “I needed her help to stop the Hydra,” he said aloud.

“Which she did out of the goodness of her heart?”

“It was self defense on her part.” He left out any mention of the orphan girl and the bandit camp where the survivors were likely burying their dead. He looked over to where he had laid Morgana before their final assault on the Hydra, then he looked again. “Where is Morgana?”

Arthur’s head snapped around to where Merlin had left her inert form before their battle with the monster. No one was there, nor was she anywhere in sight. He looked back at Merlin. “Do you know where to find her?”

“I could find her hut now, but I doubt she would be foolish enough to go back there.” Merlin returned Arthur’s steady gaze, flushing slightly at the unspoken accusation. “You believe I lied before about being able to find her dwelling.” Merlin took Arthur’s lack of denial as confirmation. “Agravaine,” he guessed, certain the man had said something to Arthur which would incriminate Merlin and absolve himself of any suspicion.

“He said he followed you to Morgana’s hut,” Arthur said. “That you are the traitor.”

The hypocrisy of the man and the depth of his deception made Merlin grind his teeth in frustration. “How can you believe this?”

“I didn’t then, not entirely,” Arthur said. “Agravaine said I would find you with Morgana, so that’s why I came here, and that is exactly what I found. How do you explain that?”

“It’s a lie,” Merlin said. “Agravaine has made this story up.” Arthur’s eyes flashed but Merlin went on resolutely. “Because he’s your uncle you will not see who he really is.”

Arthur held up his hand at that and Merlin stopped speaking. “I accept that you were not plotting with Morgana to kill me; Agravaine was mistaken in his interpretation of events. He can be too … zealous in protecting what he believes is my best interest. And I don’t believe you helped those mercenaries or you wouldn’t have warned us of the ambush. But if it is only your word against his then I have to remind you that we both know you have been lying to me since the day we met.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest but the truth of that was undeniable. “So you will take his word over mine?”

Arthur’s expression softened. “I am only saying it has been made clear to me that I do not know when you are telling me the truth and when you are not. So unless you have proof Agravaine is lying please refrain from making any more accusations against him.”

Merlin wanted to argue the unfairness of that but from Arthur’s point of view it was perfectly logical.

Arthur dropped down to sit with his back to the closest tree trunk and leaned his head back against the rough bark. After a moment of hesitation, Merlin sat beside him.

“Agravaine is my only living relative,” Arthur said. “The only one left of my family.”

“Morgana is your half-sister,” Merlin dared to point out.

Arthur lifted his head to stare at him. “Morgana who conjured a monster to kill us and doubtless plans to make another assault on my kingdom?”

“But still family,” Merlin said.

“Not much comfort.” Arthur’s head dropped back against the tree again. “Her betrayal shattered my – our – father. He was half dead before the assassin’s blade touched him.”

“Her hatred stemmed from fear of him and hurt at his refusal to acknowledge her.”

“That doesn’t justify her actions.” Arthur let out a deep sigh. “We’ll have to go to her hut to see if she shows up.”

“Take an army with you,” Merlin said.

“I intend to.” Arthur’s hand dropped to rest on his belt, landing on Merlin’s neck scarf which he had used to protect himself from the Hydra’s poisonous breath. Gingerly he yanked it out of his belt and passed it back. “You can have this. It smells worse than that monster’s breath, I probably would have been better off poisoned.”

“Maybe you should have your servant wash it before you return it since it’s been used as a gas mask.” Merlin took the cloth anyway. “How is your new servant working out?” he asked as casually as he could, looking down at his hands twisting and untwisting the scarf.

“George?” A small smile lit Arthur’s face. “He is the most efficient servant I’ve ever seen; prompt, respectful, anticipates my every need. He is always dressed sharply, his manners are impeccable, every job is done to perfection, and he invariably acts as if he is honoured to do it.”

Arthur glanced sideways as Merlin stared at him, the cloth in his hands forgotten.

When Arthur caught him staring, Merlin dropped his eyes back to his hands, noticed the abused scarf, and tucked the cloth into his belt for later washing. He fixed a bright smile on his face. “I’m glad he’s working out for you.”

“He is also seriously boring,” Arthur went on. “I have never met anyone so dull,” he added, leaning closer to impart the next bit of insight. “The man makes jokes about brass.”

When a conspiratorial smile broke across Arthur’s expression Merlin smiled back genuinely.

“At least he’s feeding you well,” Merlin said. “I see you’re putting on weight.”

“I am not!” Arthur retorted before he could stop himself from reacting to the taunt. “Of course, I do always know where he is.” The king regarded his former servant. “Where were you all those times I assume you were not actually in the tavern? What do sorcerers do, stir bubbling cauldrons? Dance under the full moon? Do you have a pointy hat and a cape with stars on it?”

“Saving your miserable backside, most of the time,” Merlin said. “Keeping Morgana from killing you before I do.”

The mention of his sister sobered Arthur. “Speaking of Morgana, I better prepare for her next assault and whatever blood is going to be spilled because of it.” He moved to rise but Merlin put a hand on his arm.

“There is one thing you can do to stop her without further bloodshed.”

Arthur looked at him sharply. “What?”

Hesitantly, Merlin voiced the proposal. “You can lift the ban on magic.”

He saw the king’s suspicions about him and his motives play across Arthur’s face. “Are you certain that would stop her?” Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin answered truthfully, “No. But if Camelot was safe for people with magic,” he took a deep breath, “people like her and I, then I could speak to Morgana and maybe make her see that her war with you is pointless. She would know you are nothing like Uther.”

Arthur’s blond head snapped back as if he had been slapped.

“The kingdom you will build will outshine anything that has come before and your name will be remembered in every age.”

The king blinked. “I’ll think about it,” he promised.

Merlin thought that was the second time today he had to be satisfied with not receiving an unequivocal no.


	6. The Lamia

Before the week was out, Camelot patrols had scoured the area around Morgana’s abandoned dwelling and pronounced there was no sign she would return. Her horse was gone and nothing of value could be found among the hodgepodge of items left behind.

The bandit camp was discovered but it had been deserted by survivors of the Hydra’s attack and Merlin’s few surreptitious inquiries confirmed no wagon was found at the site and no one had any inkling children had been there. Until he was assured the girl’s magic would not lead to trouble for her in Camelot, Merlin felt she and her brother were safer with their “uncles,” thieves and criminals or not.

He was unsurprised to learn Agravaine had accused him of treason. When Arthur refused to allow his uncle to conduct his planned interrogation of Merlin, the warm feeling in his gut at this sign of trust alleviated his frustration with Arthur’s continued faith in his traitorous uncle. Agravaine had reluctantly let the matter drop lest he seem overly anxious to get rid of the king’s former servant for no reason he could explain, and Merlin sent him a warning look when Arthur’s back was turned. The black-cloaked nobleman narrowed his eyes in return.

***

Gwen had been surprised when Arthur questioned her about Agravaine but, other than a sense of unease, she admitted she could not name a specific action or word of his that justified her mistrust of the man. She hesitated to be overly critical of Arthur’s uncle, uncomfortably aware that her dislike may be merely a reaction to his obvious disapproval of her relationship with the king, which Agravaine never failed to make plain to her whenever Arthur was not in earshot.

Although Merlin continued to assist Gaius with his physician duties, Gwen noticed how the young man seemed at loose ends now that he had no other tasks at the palace. The number of times Arthur slipped and mistakenly called George by Merlin’s name was not lost on her, either. Though she appreciated George’s work efforts and he was unfailingly courteous to her, it was odd not to see Merlin constantly at Arthur’s side. Agravaine, she noticed, was as pleased at their separation as he would have been to separate Arthur from her.

Gwen waited until Gaius was out seeing a patient before she took the opportunity to speak with Merlin alone in his quarters. She found him staring into space, sitting at one of the tables with an open book in front of him which she suspected he had not turned a page of in some time. Gwen sat on the bench beside him and put her hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

He started and then pasted a smile on his face that did not reach his eyes. “Hi, Gwen.”

“Arthur told me about your conversation after you defeated the Hydra and what you said about Agravaine,” Gwen said.

“He’s working with Morgana, I know he is.”

“Why would he do that?”

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know but I think it has something to do with Uther.”

“I wish I could help,” Gwen said. “But Agravaine is Arthur’s uncle. He trusts him more than anyone.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, dropping his gaze to the floor. “More than anyone.”

“I may not like the man, or always agree with the counsel he provides,” Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste, “but he has been of great help to Arthur these many months.” Although privately she questioned the man’s motive for ingratiating himself so thoroughly with the king.

“I know.”

“I’ll do what I can with Arthur,” she promised. “Do you really think Morgana would cease any further attempt on Arthur’s life if magic were no longer banned?”

Merlin looked at her. “You knew her better than anyone. Would she?”

Gwen sighed. “I thought I knew her, but she changed. I understand now, a little, how frightened she must have been living with Uther but at the time I really didn’t know why she suddenly she shut me out. It was a long time before I could admit that to myself. It was so hard to believe she meant us harm. Morgause, on the other hand,” Gwen narrowed her eyes, “It was easy to believe she meant no one any good. You know how some people consider servants to be movable pieces furniture with no thoughts or feelings?”

Merlin rolled his eyes in sympathy.

“Morgause never missed an opportunity to put me in my place,” Gwen said. “I believe she thought Morgana and I were too familiar.”

Merlin’s sniff told her he agreed with her assessment of the haughty blonde.

Gwen gave Merlin a sympathetic glance. “I can understand why the things she did – the way she used magic – why it would be banned.”

“Magic isn’t good or evil,” Merlin said. “We all make choices of what we do with our talents.”

“I never thought about it before,” Gwen admitted. “I mean, all that happened before I was born and I never questioned that things are the way they are.” She looked at her friend. “I never thought what it might be like for you, having to hide who you are.” She squeezed his shoulder again.

“Thank you.”

“I guess it was the same with Morgana, only maybe worse with her being so close to Uther.” Gwen gave a sidelong glance at Merlin. “I know how you felt about her.” She smiled slightly at the look of chagrin on his face. “I was jealous, actually. All the men always picking their tongues up off the floor after she walked by and her soaking it in. I thought you might be different but you started bringing her flowers.” She saw Merlin open his mouth to make some excuse, but Gwen only smiled knowingly and patted his hand. “Then later I just thought how ridiculous the pair of us were, both smitten by those who were so far above our station.”

“Except that Arthur’s going to marry you,” Merlin stated as though it were a matter of fact.

Gwen’s face grew warm. “He hasn’t mentioned marriage.” Her cheeks turned another shade darker at what she had just said. “Or anything else,” she hastened to add. “He hasn’t … we’re not …”

Merlin put his hand on top of hers. “I know.”

***

Arthur approached his uncle privately in Agravaine’s chambers with the proposal he had mulled over since his talk with Merlin. Although he sincerely believed his father’s relentless persecution of people simply for having magic was misguided, Arthur had never before considered overturning those laws. Now he had been forced to consider which would bring peace and stability to the kingdom – keeping things the way they had been for a generation or allowing magic to be practiced again. He was not surprised by his uncle’s reaction to his resolve, in fact he considered it a trial run for the conversations to come with other members of the Council.

“But, my lord, you cannot repeal the ban on sorcery!” Agravaine appeared truly appalled. “I regret to say this,” the older man gave Arthur a pitying look, “we have spoken of this matter before and you have made your wishes clear, so since you are determined to court Guinevere, I feel it my duty to point out that I fear you would endanger her by this change to the laws.”

Whatever he had expected his uncle to say, this was not it. Arthur’s brow creased trying to follow his uncle’s logic.

“Wasn’t her father executed for using sorcery?” Agravaine said.

Arthur thought his uncle’s sources were to be commended for having unearthed that piece of information. Generally, no one in the palace dared bring up the subject of how Tom the blacksmith died. “No, he was not.”

“But the incident did involve magic, didn’t it?”

“He was accused of aiding a sorcerer and was killed escaping from prison before his trial.”

“Well, not suspicious at all,” Agravaine said with a smug smile. “And wasn’t Guinevere herself accused of using magic herself, not once but twice?”

“Does this have a point, Uncle?”

“It is common knowledge you are enamoured of this girl. If you allow sorcery to return to this kingdom, the logical conclusion will be that she has used magic on you, both to ensnare your affections and to make the kingdom safe for herself and her kind.”

The preposterousness of such a conclusion hit him first, followed by the realization that his uncle was probably correct. It was certainly Uther’s immediate assumption. Arthur considered the consequences if Guinevere were thought to be a threat to the kingdom; someone might take it upon themselves to “save” the king, either through misguided loyalty or in hope of reward. Agravaine’s point was valid: there would be a danger to Guinevere in any sudden about-face in his attitude to magic. He would have to move cautiously.

***

“Gaius, do you trust Agravaine?” Arthur leaned forward where he was sitting on the stairs beneath the window of the physician’s workroom.

The question made Gaius stop stirring the medicine he was preparing at his workbench and face the king contemplatively. “No, I do not.”

“Why?”

Gaius wiped his hands on a cloth. “He mentioned to me a name, a name he could only have heard from Morgana.”

“But you don’t actually know where he heard this name?”

Gaius sighed. “No, I can’t say for certain where he heard it.”

At that moment Merlin returned to the physician’s quarters, halting on the threshold when he saw the king with Gaius.

Arthur sat back and returned to the subject he had come to relate, not wanting to discuss Agravaine in front of Merlin. “Guinevere has asked that I send immediate help to these people,” he said as he finished the story. “It seems John and Mary are dear to her, more like an aunt and uncle than friends, she said.”

“In normal circumstances I would be happy to travel to this village to investigate, but a third case of sweating sickness broke out just this morning –”

“Fourth,” Merlin interrupted.

Gaius shook his head sadly. “These patients will have to be watched closely for at least the next two days.”

“Of course, I understand,” Arthur said. Gaius was the most talented and learned physician in the kingdom, but someone else could be found to treat John and Mary’s sick villagers. Disappointing Guinevere by letting her friends down was not to be considered.

“Might I make a suggestion, Sire?” Gaius said. “Why not send Merlin in my place?”

“These people need a physician not a …” Arthur stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes jumped to Merlin and then away.

“Sorcerer?” Gaius finished for him. “He is also my pupil and an apt one. If the diagnosis is straightforward he can prescribe a remedy.”

The king considered the suggestion, knowing it would be the first job he had asked of Merlin since the truth about his powers had been revealed. Arthur could not have a sorcerer washing his socks and acting as the target for weapons training – the thought that he had done so made him squirm – nor was there any other duty that seemed appropriate. Magic was banned, apparently Merlin’s one given talent, other than the dragonlord business which was a subject they avoided by mutual agreement. Although he had assisted Gaius for years now; perhaps the boy was capable of more than Arthur had given him credit for. The king nearly snorted at himself. Merlin was obviously capable of a great deal he never asked credit for. If only it did not involve magic.

There was utter silence as Gaius and Merlin waited on Arthur’s response, like they were both holding their breath hoping for this sign of acceptance. It twisted his gut in knots.

 “If it will make Guinevere happy and possibly aid these people, I would be satisfied,” Arthur said without looking at Merlin. “She wants to return with them to Longstead to help if she can. I’ll assign a group of knights to accompany you.”

The physician exchanged a relieved smile with his ward. The joy in their faces at such a minor show of confidence made Arthur’s gut twist again.

***

Three days later there had been no word from any of the party which set off for the remote mountain village two days earlier. No word had been received of any delay, no bridge was down that would have necessitated a change of route, there was no explanation for why Guinevere, Merlin, and the knights had not returned from Longstead. Agravaine offered to send out scouts, but Arthur was determined to ensure Guinevere was safe and he gave orders for a party of knights to escort him to the village at first light. Assured the outbreak of sweating sickness had all but passed and his patients were on their way to recovery, Gaius was more than willing to accompany the king’s party.

What they learned when they reached the village did not reassure Arthur. His physician determined the three village men were not suffering from any ordinary illness, confirming the suspicion Merlin had voiced to the elder that sorcery was at work. Gaius took over care of the sick villagers, doing what he could to keep them alive but not holding out hope for their recovery until the source of the illness was discovered.

Arthur learned from John that Merlin, Gwen, and the knights had left the previous morning to return to Camelot, yet they had never arrived and although their route should have been the same as Arthur’s party, there had been no sign of them.

It was the Southron survivor they had found on the road who provided the first real insight to what had happened both in the village and to the dead Southron slavers. Despite his perilous condition, he was able to tell them his group had been transporting a girl when quarrels and fights broke out among themselves. The slavers began to suspect the girl, a suspicion that was confirmed when she escaped and killed all of them but him. Once Gaius knew, or at least strongly suspected, that the men’s sickness was the work of a Lamia, he began working on a cure.

“This creature may look like a girl but do not be fooled,” he cautioned Arthur. “A Lamia is not a person nor does it have human emotions. It is a creature of the old religion, created by the High Priestesses in a time of war, but it proved more deadly than even its makers had intended. It kept on killing and would not stop. The Lamia can control the mind of a man and suck the life out of him with a single embrace. It can also transform into a hideous monster.”

“And this creature is out there somewhere, and so is Guinevere,” Arthur finished.

“She is with the knights,” Gaius said. “And Merlin.”

Arthur regarded his physician. “My men and I ride out at dawn to find them.”

At first light, Arthur took the route back to Camelot, this time moving slowly and searching for any indication that a large group had left the road recently. Luckily no rains had washed away the many tracks. When they picked up a trail more than two days old of six horses heading east, Arthur was certain they were on the right path. The knowledge that Guinevere was in danger spurred him on and he pushed the group as far and as fast as they could travel, ignoring his uncle’s protests and the knights’ knowing looks.

Finding the scrap of cloth tied to a branch validated both Arthur’s conviction they were on the right track and his concern that Gwen was in trouble. It was from her tunic, he would know it anywhere, and he knew she had left this trail for them because she was aware of her danger. A heavy lump of regret sat in Arthur’s gut; while his father had been alive there was no chance he could court Guinevere but he was king now and he still had not acted. He had foolishly attempted to end their relationship instead, and then when he realized his mistake, he had only half-heartedly rectified his error.

When the distant castle nestled in a remote forested valley came in sight over the tree tops, Arthur felt an urgent sense of dread that he had to get to that derelict castle as quickly as possible.

***

The last of Merlin’s doubts that the girl was the reason for the knights’ strange behaviour were swept away when she lured them into her lair and disappeared. The remote castle had been abandoned by humans. The forest encroached so closely that vines grew up along every broken column and fallen archway and among the crumbling stones and collapsed wooden beams. A smell of rotting vegetation curled up among the rubble like mist in a graveyard.

Merlin leaned against the door frame of the small room where they had taken shelter, wondering how he was going to get them all out of there safely. The knights refused to listen to any suggestion that Lamia was dangerous, nor would they leave her. Leon and Percival had stormed off looking for her and now Gwaine had gone to find more wood to keep their little fire burning in the dank room, responding to Merlin’s warning with the same hostility the other knights had shown him.

Gwen sat on the cold stone floor, her brother’s head cradled in her lap. The young knight had not stirred or given any sign of life since they found him in the woods. Merlin had not been able to help Elyan any more than the men back in the village.

“I was right, she’s responsible for Elyan’s illness,” Gwen said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I don’t understand it, why have only the knights been enchanted, why not us as well?”

“You’re a woman,” Merlin said.

Gwen looked at him. “So?”

“All the victims have been men.”

“So why haven’t you fallen under her spell?” As soon as the words were out, Gwen realized the truth. “She knows you have magic, that’s why she’s afraid of you.” Gwen’s eyes widened at the thought they had a chance. “You can get us out of here.”

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t counter whatever she’s done to the knights, and I can’t abandon them. Not while there’s any hope of getting them out alive. Arthur must have found the trail we left for him by now; if we hold out we can get help for Elyan and the others.”

A cry echoed through the cavernous stone passages.

Merlin looked back at Gwen where she sat on the floor, holding her brother who hung on to life by a bare thread. “Whatever you do, do not leave this room.” He straightened where he stood. “Protect Elyan.”

“Protect him how?” Gwen said. “I’m coming with you.” She laid Elyan’s head gently on the hard stone of the floor even though he was beyond any feeling and snatched up his sword. She moved to hand the weapon to Merlin but he shook his head.

“You take the sword, but first … _thurhdrife hi ecg!_ ”

His eyes glowed golden and Gwen almost dropped the sword when it began to glow.

“That will give it a little extra punch.”

Merlin looked up and down the corridor. He chose the direction Gwaine had gone, inching his way through the dark passageways. He scanned every intersecting passageway and listened for any sound that might indicate a living creature.

Gwen followed closely, picking her way among the broken pillars and collapsed archways clutching the enchanted sword.

When the skin at the nape of his neck prickled, Merlin stopped and turned sharply aside, disturbing something that was propped against the archway beside him. Gwaine’s inert form slid from behind the crumbling column. Merlin caught the nearly lifeless body and laid it gently among the debris on the stone floor. Magic crackled beneath his skin, eager to face the foe. He was determined to destroy this creature in time to get the knights medical help before it was too late for them, as it might already be for the village men.

A shout alerted him that someone was up ahead, spurring Merlin in that direction. Fury washed through him at the sight of Percival’s motionless body and Leon helpless on the floor in the hands of the girl with inhuman glowing green eyes. Leon’s sword had been torn from his grip and lay among the rubble of the passageway.

“You will not find me such an easy target,” Merlin said, striding forward.

The girl calmly got to her feet and faced him in the narrow expanse of the corridor. “Your petty magic holds no fear for me,” she scoffed. “I could have killed you any time I wished.”

The emptiness of her boast was not lost on Merlin. “Then what are you waiting for?” he taunted.

Her blast of power threw him backwards to land on the hard stone but he rolled to his knees and responded in kind. The impact sent the girl flying to the end of the hall where she disappeared from sight behind a collapsed pillar with a scream of rage.

Slowly Merlin advanced down the corridor, stopping to check on Leon, then moving toward Percival, when an animal growl indicated the girl was not dead. Only then did he remember that Gwen had been right behind him when he first entered the corridor. He quickly looked over his shoulder, noting with relief that she had stopped when he rushed forward to face Lamia and that Gwen waited quietly behind a broken pillar, the sword in her hands.

He saw her eyes widen and his head snapped around to see a tentacle reach out from the rubble into which Lamia had disappeared. The creature which reared over the pillar was monstrous; its scaly body was a cross between a serpent and an octopus, its jowls with rows of dangerous-looking teeth, and the same inhuman green eyes Lamia had displayed when she attacked the knights.

 _She was not even remotely human_ , Merlin thought as he backed away hurriedly. He intended to grab Gwen and run but the creature’s tentacle caught him a blow that knocked him off his feet. Its many tentacles propelled the creature forward surprisingly quickly, its jaws open and snarling. He spoke the words of a spell “ _Feall hushefen!_ ” and the ceiling caved in on top of the creature, stone and debris to the height of a man burying it in the passageway.

From where he had fallen, he kept his eyes fixed on the pile of rock. The debris exploded outward as the Lamia relentlessly pursued him. Merlin drew back his hand and his eyes glowed golden as he sent a blast of magic at the monster. At the same time Gwen lunged from behind the archway where she had waited, driving the point of the enchanted sword deeply into the horrible creature’s body.

The Lamia gave a bellow of outraged pain, snapping its ugly jowls in Gwen’s direction before it collapsed in a heap at her feet. At the same moment, Arthur and his knights rushed into the corridor, stopping dead at the sight of Gwen standing over the mound of scaly flesh, the sword she had used sticking straight up from the monstrous corpse.

Arthur stared in amazement at Guinevere. “I knew about your loyalty and wisdom, but not that you were also a fearless hero.”

Gwen threw herself into his arms. “Well maybe you just didn’t notice before.”

“You were equal to any knight of Camelot and I am proud of you.”

The knights looked the other way and Merlin concentrated on getting up and brushing himself off, giving the two as much privacy as possible in the circumstances.

“It’s almost good to see you.” Arthur grinned at Merlin once the embrace with Gwen had ended.

“Yeah, it’s almost good to see you, too,” Merlin returned.

Arthur sobered. “You did well.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “We all nearly died.”

“You were supposed to face a sickness, not a monster.”

“I couldn’t cure the men in the village.”

“Gaius tells me you kept them alive. That was all you could do until we knew what we were dealing with.”

“The knights –”

“We’ll get them back to Gaius, he may have concocted a remedy by this time.” Arthur held out his arm. “And you kept Guinevere safe. Thank you.”

Merlin reached out and grasped Arthur’s arm. “You’re welcome.”


	7. The New Age – Nightfall

Merlin came down the stairs from his room looking for breakfast. His stomach grumbled and his eyes were heavy-lidded from lack of sleep. He had hoped for a respite before they had to deal with whatever attack Morgana was planning; instead they had placated a vengeful ghost. To discover it had been Arthur who had led the attack on the peaceful Druids and not his father, albeit when Arthur was young and inexperienced, had shocked Merlin. Thank goodness Arthur had had the courage to face the possessed Elyan and beg the spirit’s forgiveness for the horrors of that day and the child’s murder. Merlin had been incredibly moved by the king’s tearful confession of regret and the boy’s ghostly voice granting the forgiveness that brought both of them peace.

Gaius brought food to the table while Merlin fetched trenchers for them both. They had just sat down to eat when King Arthur walked through their door. At his grave expression, their friendly greetings died on their lips.

“What happened last night,” Arthur began.

Merlin and Gaius exchanged a glance across the breakfast table, assuming the king was referring to the meeting in the woods at the site of the shrine where Arthur had made peace with the spirit.

“I came to a realization,” Arthur said.

“That if I say a place is haunted and not to disturb anything you should all listen to me?” Merlin suggested.

Arthur ignored the interruption. “I made a promise to that boy’s spirit that I would prevent anything like what happened in his people’s camp that day from happening again and the Druid people would be treated with the respect they deserve.”

The king stood on the threshold, stiffly facing the physician and his ward where they remained seated at the table. Merlin put the uncharacteristic awkwardness down to Arthur’s embarrassment at the emotion he had displayed at the shrine, and that Merlin had witnessed his passionate atonement.

“But it was not enough,” Arthur went on.

“He forgave you, the child’s spirit is at rest,” Merlin said.

“It was not enough for you,” Arthur said. “I mean, for those with magic who want to be left to live their lives in peace in this kingdom, free to use their gifts for the benefit of all if they are willing.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat and he gripped the table.

“You have shown me time and again that magic is not evil or corrupt – people choose how to use their talents. My father was wrong. The laws that ban magic do not ensure peace and stability in the kingdom, they encourage fear and they create hate and desires for revenge and those laws should be changed. I am sorry I haven’t done that sooner.”

At the end of this speech, Merlin stood but his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Finally he said simply, “Arthur, thank you.”

The king drew himself up. “It’s not a personal favour. I’m doing what is best for the kingdom.”

“I know.” A twinkle came into Merlin’s eye. “So there’s no chance that we could have a hug?” He spread his arms in invitation.

The king frowned and stepped backward at the suggestion. “I have a Council meeting to prepare for.” He appeared to hesitate, then turned on his heel and left without another word.

Merlin remained standing where he was, staring at the empty doorway. Gaius wrapped him in a hug.

“You did it, my boy.” The old man grinned from ear to ear.

“I didn’t think this day would come,” Merlin breathed.

“Yes you did,” Gaius said. “This is what you’ve been working to achieve since you arrived here: Arthur as king of a kingdom that is safe for magic.”

Merlin looked at the old man fondly. “With everything that happened since Uther died, I almost gave up hope.”

“But you didn’t give up.”

“Now we have to keep Camelot safe from Morgana so Arthur can unite the kingdoms of Albion.”

He was under no illusion that repealing the ban on sorcery would instantly remove years of hate and suspicion from people’s minds. It would be a generation before the effects of the Purge were finally undone, and meantime it would fall to Arthur to obtain acceptance from the other royals and  ultimately convince them to follow his lead despite his youth and inexperience as a ruler.

The monarchs of the Five Kingdoms would have to amend the treaty Uther had brokered among them in their unprecedented show of solidarity. Same with the treaty Uther had made with Lord Bayard of Mercia. Lord Godwyn, Uther’s long-time ally, would need to be persuaded to change his laws. Hopefully, Arthur’s recent peace with Queen Annis would hold during the political upheavals to come, though magic had not been banned in Caerleon. That would leave King Lot in Essetir whose ambition to expand his territories made relations with Camelot tense. If Arthur made peace among all of them, it would be an alliance beyond anything that had been dreamed of during Uther’s reign.

***

Agravaine recognized the familiar expression of irritation on Morgana’s face when he showed up at the door of her dwelling. The abode she had acquired – Agravaine was not foolish enough to ask how or from whom – was in only slightly better shape than the ramshackle hovel she had been forced to abandon. The shelves were not yet packed with an assortment of foul-smelling containers or oddly-shaped bundles he was glad were covered from view, but already a cloying medicine smell permeated the single room behind her.

“I bring you information of an enticing nature,” he said, hoping to capture her interest.

“Are you certain you were not followed this time?” she sneered.

“Yes, I am certain.” He tried not to show offence at her taunt. Of course the serving boy was not going to trick him again. “I did exactly as you said.”

She opened the door further to allow him entry and with undisguised impatience led him to a small table and seated herself. He took the other chair without waiting to be invited to sit.

“Helios is here,” Agravaine announced triumphantly.

He had acted quickly to cement the alliance, fearing his nephew might lift the ban on sorcery and cause Morgana to reconsider her intention to take Camelot. Agravaine could not afford to lose her allegiance. Helios had the military strength to assault the city, at least with appropriate assistance from inside the citadel, but only Morgana had a claim to wear the crown. Without her, their coup would be short-lived. So far Uther’s son had not yet taken that drastic step, but Agravaine knew King Arthur had not abandoned his idea of allowing sorcery to be practiced unhindered.

Morgana’s attention was captured by his news. She leaned toward him over the table. “And?”

“His forces have been gathering in the Valley of the Fallen Kings for weeks, disguising themselves as bandits and mercenaries. They are at full strength now and he will be ready when I open the gates of Camelot.” Agravaine finished this pronouncement with a triumphant smile, expecting her eager desire to mount an attack on the city without delay.

Instead, Morgana sat back, her brows furrowed. “Has there been any indication Arthur intends to lift the ban on magic?”

The complete unexpectedness of such a question struck Agravaine speechless. He wondered what had been said to her, although he could guess by whom, that she would bring up such a possibility. That meddlesome boy was proving hard to kill and Agravaine cursed himself that he had not been able to completely remove Merlin from any contact with – or influence on – Arthur. “No, my lady, Arthur is just like his father. He is dedicated to the eradication of sorcery.”

Morgana nodded and Agravaine was pleased to note she had expected that answer.

“Shall I send word to Helios?” he said, confident again that victory was almost in their hands. Once they took the citadel, they could close the gates and withstand any counter-assault while Morgana solidified her claim to the throne. Then Uther’s legacy, built on Ygraine’s blood, would be finally and utterly destroyed. It was the first thing he had loved about Morgana: she had hated Uther nearly as much as he.

Every time Agravaine looked at Arthur’s blond hair and blue eyes, it was poison in his gut that his nephew lived while his ethereal, delicate sister was dust in her grave. His sister and his brother, both dead at Uther’s hands. He hoped the heartless bastard he had once called friend, who had claimed to love Ygraine above all others, was watching from the Other World.

Morgana’s eyes flashed. “I will decide when the attack goes forward, not you.”

“But my lady, Helios will not cool his heels for long,” Agravaine said.

“He’ll wait as long as I want him to wait,” Morgan said. “I will send you word when to proceed. Until then, do not show up here unless you have a matter of true urgency.”

Agravaine stood. “Then I will take my leave, my lady. Arthur has called a meeting of the Council which I must be back for.” Carefully controlling his frustration until he was out of her sight, he yanked the reins of his horse more forcefully than was necessary as he spurred his mount back to Camelot.

***

With a frustrated sense of impotent urgency, Agravaine watched Arthur face the looks of pure astonishment on the Council members’ faces resolutely. Uther’s cherished son who should never have been born, who had cost Ygraine her life, was so near to being deposed and executed and now this. It would not take long for word of the king’s decree to be relayed to Morgana by one of her other spies. Agravaine had not been able to identify them or he would ensure the news of this development was kept from her as long as possible.

“But, Sire,” Geoffrey of Monmouth began, his shocked expression almost humorous, “Sorcery is evil! We cannot allow it to be practiced again.”

Murmurs of agreement went around the men assembled at the table.

“This is a decree, not a debate.” King Arthur met the eyes of each of the Council members. “However, it is my hope that you will give me your full support. This action will bring peace not only for those citizens who simply want to live their lives free of persecution, but it will also deter Morgana in her relentless quest for the throne. We received confirmation that the rumours are true, the Southrons have been arming themselves for weeks and trickling across our borders; there can be no other explanation but that Morgana is amassing a force to make another attempt on Camelot. Helios’s men are fierce fighters and they have been raiding villages for more recruits. They are not yet strong enough to take Camelot in an open assault, however when they are, if we have not been able to stop Morgana, we will be faced with another war.”

The Councillors seated around the room took a moment to consider the logic. Agravaine watched as they debated with themselves the truth of the king’s words, some acquiescent, some uncaring, and some plotting, as each man around the table considered how to turn this development to his own advantage. None seemed about to argue with the king. Geoffrey simply looked stunned and Gaius could not hide his delight.

Agravaine hoped they would dissuade the king from this course of action, but when no one around the table chose to openly oppose King Arthur, Agravaine spoke up. “My lord, Morgana has declared her intention to take the crown she believes rightfully belongs to her. I seriously doubt that any decree regarding sorcery will turn her from that purpose.”

“That may be, Uncle,” Arthur said. “But at least we will have discouraged any otherwise loyal citizens from supporting her in order to bring about change to the unjust laws against magic we have upheld.”

“Your father –”

“I am well aware what my father’s views on this matter were.”

Agravaine wanted to continue to dispute the matter but none of the other Council members would meet his eyes and his nephew’s expression was adamant. Any more fruitless protests would only weaken his authority. He wondered if Morgana could truly be swayed from her drive to take Camelot’s crown, and how he could persuade her not to give up.

***

Agravaine approached the tiny dwelling in a narrow alleyway of the lower town, wrinkling his nose at the stench that hung over the area, his eyes on the cutthroats and vagabonds that called this collection of crudely-made shelters home. They purposefully averted their gazes from him. A few coins in this part of town could buy silence and a few more could pry tongues loose, yet fear of Morgana more than silver or copper would keep mouths shut about anything anyone saw of the king’s trusted uncle.

Two women standing in the doorway of a shabby dwelling straightened at his glance, expertly assessing the costliness of his maroon tunic and coat and well-made boots and trying to catch his eye. He ignored them and they settled back to continue their wait for customers.

Agravaine pushed through the crude plank door of the dwelling. Morgana’s black mourning clothes blended with the shadows of the windowless room. At his entrance, she waved at a candle on a nearby table and flame sprang to its wick. “So my brother has decided to repeal the ban on magic.”

“My lady, I was as shocked as the rest of the Council.” Agravaine spread his hands in bafflement.

Whatever reply Morgana was about to make was lost when Merlin stepped through the door behind Agravaine, poised to ward off any threatening move either of them might make.

Morgana’s hands twitched and then fell to her sides. “Hello, Emrys.”

Agravaine’s hand dropped to the hilt of his weapon and he half drew it but Morgana turned on him with a look of icy disdain. Clenching his jaw, he slowly slid the weapon back into its sheath.

Merlin waited until both Morgana and Agravaine abandoned any threatening gestures before he lowered his guard.

Morgana closed the door behind them all with a wave of her hand and turned her back on Agravaine to face Merlin. “I assume you followed this fool here for a reason.”

“My lady,” Agravaine protested. “It is not possible that spell was used again.”

“But did you bother to look over your shoulder as you left the citadel?” Morgana sneered without turning to look at him.

Agravaine fell silent. He sent a venomous glare at the young man facing Morgana which was ignored by both of them, their full attention on each other.

“Well?” Morgana challenged.

That she had not immediately attacked gave him a glimmer of hope. Merlin felt the weight of all the lives resting on his ability to convince her that further warfare was pointless. Arthur had to hold his own kingdom before he could begin the task of uniting all of Albion. “Magic has a place again in Camelot. There’s no more reason for you to live in fear because of your powers. You said if Arthur changed the laws I could ask you again – would you make peace with him?”

Morgana did not answer immediately.

“Arthur will not forgive your crimes, my lady, for all those who died in the last assault on Camelot,” Agravaine warned.

“Arthur will not judge you until he has listened to you,” Merlin said, not taking his eyes from Morgana.

“I only did what was necessary to free this kingdom from tyranny,” Morgana said.

“Why would she beg for mercy from him when she can wear Uther’s crown herself?” Agravaine challenged.

Merlin ignored the man, holding Morgana’s gaze, waiting for her to choose her own path. “Arthur will build a kingdom that is fair and just for all of us, I promise.”

“Ah, yes,” Agravaine put in. “And he will marry that serving-girl and she can rule at his side.”

The mention of her former maid caused an angry light to come into Morgana’s eyes. “So Gwen will be queen?”

“No one would sacrifice more for Camelot than Gwen.” Merlin tried to placate Morgana, seeing her willingness to negotiate a peaceful end to this battle for the throne begin to crumble.

“She is supposed to be loyal to me!” Morgana seethed. “Instead she sided with Arthur.”

“He loves her.”

“And she is devoted to him. How sweet. Everyone loves Arthur,” Morgana said. “Uther doted on him. The knights follow him like sheep. And you, so loyal to your master.” Her sneer disfigured her otherwise lovely features.

“He is my friend,” Merlin said, hoping he could make Morgana see reason.

“But you were not _my_ friend,” Morgana said. “When all you had to do was say something so I would not be alone and afraid.”

“Morgana, I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate to express his real regret, even though it was clear to him now how risky it would have been, how dangerous for him and everyone who depended on him, had she known of his powers.

“ _You_ are Camelot’s rightful heir, my lady,” Agravaine reminded her.

“No!” Merlin said. “Uther is dead. You had your revenge. Meet with Arthur. Negotiate peace with him.”

Morgana hesitated, green eyes staring into blue, uncertainty clouding her anger.

“My lady, victory is within our grasp. The final blow against Uther: to remove his misbegotten son from the throne.”

When Morgana looked at Agravaine, Merlin saw the doubt in her face fade.

“Yes, the unwanted daughter Uther never acknowledged will wear his crown and not the son he sold his soul for,” she said.

Merlin grabbed her arm in protest but she shook off his hand, cocking her head slightly and moving further away from him.

Agravaine pressed his advantage, addressing Merlin with a slight smile. “Perhaps you would leave now, before I summon the guards and tell them I have discovered Morgana’s spy?”

Merlin clenched his jaw as his eyes snapped to Agravaine.

“Who do you think the guards will believe,” Agravaine said. “The king’s right hand man or a servant?”

Merlin’s hands twitched to wipe the smirk off the older man’s face but there was no denying the truth of his words. He faced Morgana. “You can end this peacefully.”

Her green eyes softened a little before the hard glint came back into them. Agravaine stepped to her side. Merlin walked out the door, his heart aching, hoping she would change her mind before it was too late.

***

Morgana had only met Helios once previously. Then, she had walked into the Southron stronghold alone, throwing seasoned fighters aside when they attempted to bar her path. The Southron warriors covered their faces with black cloth, wore black capes, and were reputed to be skilled with an assortment of weapons and fierce in battle. Their leader was allegedly the most ruthless of all his army, and he had certainly looked impressive: a big man, head uncovered and shaven, bare arms bulging. She had captured his full attention with her entrance, knowing how crucial it was to demonstrate her power if she hoped to entice him into an alliance. He had not made any promises that day, but he had contacted her through Agravaine’s network of spies once his forces were up to the strength needed for an assault on Camelot.

Now that Helios was here, she had no intention of relying on Agravaine to manage their communications. The sentries who watched her approach the cavern that was their temporary headquarters kept a respectful distance. A black-garbed Southron took her horse and another led her to the cave Helios had converted into his own chamber.

Her eyes widened at sight of the feast laid out for him: several kinds of meat prepared with fragrant spices, cheese, bread, fruits, vegetables, flagons of wine. There were silken cushions to sit on and coloured cloths decorating the walls. Sweet-scented candles disguised the dank smell of the cave.

“Did you expect raw meat to be gnawed off the bone?” he teased. “Come, you must be hungry after your long ride.”

Her eyes met his, assessing  the invitation there. Apparently this barbarian warlord was capable of being charmingly persuasive when he chose.

“Are you as well prepared to mount a successful attack on Camelot as you are to dine in style?” she said.

“If you can ensure the gates and the siege tunnels are open to us,” he countered.

“Are you doubting me?”

“No more than you me.”

Morgana smiled. “I think we understand each other perfectly.”

“Our forces are at full strength and prepared for battle,” Helios said. “But the citadel is almost impregnable once the gates are closed. Can you depend on your ally inside Camelot?”

“He is the king’s most trusted adviser, Lord Agravaine,” she said. “Be on the outskirts of the city on the evening of the Feast of Beltane. From the ridge overlooking the posthern gate, you will see his signal. Have a small force ready to accompany him through the siege tunnel inside the city walls, then when they torch the buildings you will know to advance.”

“I will see to it, my lady. And where will you be? You need to take your rightful place on the throne once we have taken the city.”

“There is a task I must take care of myself to ensure that Camelot and Arthur are defenceless.” And she was going to enjoy that particular task.

As Morgana prepared to leave, Helios laid a hand on her arm. “You are welcome to stay.”

Morgana met his dark gaze. Clearly he wished to share more than the sumptuous meal laid out beside them. His bold look was not one she was accustomed to seeing; nobles’ sons, knights, visiting royalty, none of them had dared insult the king’s ward with a look of such frank lust. It was far more intriguing than Agravaine’s simpering. She enjoyed playing the game of courtship with Agravaine; his deference and barely disguised longing were like those of the wealthy men who had admired her beauty, delighted in her grace, even the few who had appreciated her wit, but it would never be more than a game. None of them, including Arthur, had stirred more than a passing fancy in her while she dreamt of a tall, dark stranger.

She frowned. The only dark-haired stranger to sweep in was a high-cheekboned serving boy who never did learn his proper place. Not that any of it mattered now. Now she went days without seeing another living soul let alone an eligible man. Her eyes ran down Helios’s muscular body, returning the bold look he had given her. It crossed her mind to wonder if some other woman was expected to share this feast with him, and whether she still would if Morgana chose not to accept his offer.

“Take care not to get too distracted, Helios,” she said. “There is still much to do. Once I am crowned Queen of Camelot, you may indulge yourself all you wish.”

“I will keep you to your word.” His deep voice promised that she would be invited to share in that indulgence.

“I look forward to it.”

***

It was late afternoon when Merlin heard a knock at the door of the physician’s chambers. Gaius had left to attend to a simple case of fever, leaving Merlin alone in their quarters to read and study a new spell. Hoping the matter was not urgent, he answered the door to see a young boy standing in the corridor. The child was dressed like a ragamuffin, in fact it was surprising he had been allowed to get this far into the palace without being stopped by guards.

“What is it?” Merlin asked, holding the door wide.

The boy slipped inside. “Are you the physician’s apprentice?”

“Yes.”

“I was told to find the physician’s apprentice and show him this.”

The child opened his clenched fist to display a small brooch with an ugly yellow stone set in the centre of its silver filigree. Merlin stared intently at the token, sensing the magical power in it.

He looked intently at the boy. “Who sent you?”

“You should come with me.” Without waiting for an agreement the child scooted back out the door.

“Hey!” Merlin rushed after the child, not quite catching up but keeping an eye on the boy while he moved quickly out of the citadel and into the city. As the child expertly weaved his way through the crowds, it took all of the warlock’s concentration to keep the boy in sight as he led them both through the bustling thoroughfares. Once, but only once, Merlin saw the small hand pinch a few coins from a pouch which had not been held securely enough by an unwary citizen as the boy sped past.

After they passed through the city gate to the lower town, the child slowed his progress and looked back more often to ensure he had not lost his follower. When he turned to enter a narrow alleyway, his eyes met Merlin’s before the child ducked into the shadowy passageway. Merlin hurried to catch up.

He saw the boy disappear into a shabby-looking dwelling leaving the door open behind him. Merlin approached cautiously and peered inside. There was no sign of the boy in the small, empty room, but a curtain draped across as a divider was falling back into place.

Several steps into the room, Merlin heard the door shut itself behind him and the words of a spell at the same time. A piercing pain shot through his temples and as his knees buckled he saw the glowing outline of the circle he stood in. He fell to the floor on his hands and knees, the pain spreading from his temples down his arms and legs to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Hello, Emrys,” said a female voice.

Another jolt of pain went through him and he found himself prostrate on the dirt floor of the crude dwelling. He was conscious of Morgana’s hand brushing softly across his cheek, then she grasped his mouth to force it open and pour a vial of liquid down his throat. She pinched his nose closed so he had to swallow before he could gasp in air to breathe. The liquid tasted foul. Although he could not identify all the ingredients, he recognized the smell of a remedy Gaius used for those patients whose time was short. It provided relief from pain but patients who used it to relieve their agony needed to use more and more each time it was administered until they could not endure a day without a dose.

A feeling of cold seeped through his body into his bones causing him to shiver uncontrollably. His fingers and toes went numb, then his hands and feet. He realized he could no longer feel the rough dirt under his cheek.

“Poison,” she said softly. “They say turnabout is fair play.”

Morgana’s green eyes were close to his face; he thought she touched his face again but he could not feel the brush of her fingers. She stood and he tried to focus on her but his vision blurred. Briefly, her black-clad figure was outlined by the sunlight coming through the doorway, then the door closed behind her. She sealed it with a spell, leaving the crude shack in semi-dark, lit only by chinks of fading sunshine coming through the spaces between the rough-hewn plank walls.

He shivered again, then reached out with his magic to light the candle stub set atop an upended bucket which apparently served as a table, hoping the tiny spark of warmth would help his numbed hands and feet. _Forbearnan_. The candle did not light. He blinked and tried again but no flame touched the candle’s wick. _Bæl on bryne_. Nothing.

A stab of panic went through him which he forced back down. Closing his eyes he reached deeper inside, concentrating on lighting the stump of wick. The bright place inside him which should have burned with magic felt as though it was encased in ice, as numb as his body. His breathing quickened as the panic edged closer, threatening to cloud his mind. He turned his head toward the door which Morgana had sealed, forcing himself to concentrate. The door would not open to the demand of his spell. He squeezed his eyes shut, curling into himself on the dirt he could no longer feel beneath him, a silent scream echoing inside his head.

***

The Feast of Beltane was the perfect time to attack. Fewer guards were on duty than usual, and even they found their minds drifting to the celebrations they would join as soon as their shifts ended. At the banquet tables, wine flowed freely, taking the edge off seasoned fighters.

When darkness fell, Agravaine’s first task was to incapacitate the guards at the posthern gate and then use his torch to signal Helios’s waiting troops. When he received the answering signal, he moved quickly through the siege tunnel which led outside the city walls where he unlocked the grate to wait in the dark of the forest for the black-garbed Southrons. He had not yet gotten used to their sinister appearance, with black scarves covering their heads and boiled leather in place of chain mail covered by black capes, but he did not allow any nervousness to show as he led the advance group through the tunnel, each with his torch held high.

Once inside the city proper, they indiscriminately set fire to anything that would burn and there was much that could be set aflame. Agravaine thought how ironic it was that the bonfire central to the festivities would be Uther’s precious Camelot itself burning.

***

“Sire,” Leon began urgently as soon as he reached the Council room. Warning bells rang through the air. “The lower town is lost and enemy forces are inside the city walls. They are everywhere, even within the citadel.”

“How did they breach the walls?” the king asked, still in the clothes he had worn to the evening feast. He tried to absorb all the information being relayed to him and formulate the response they were waiting for him to make. The not-so-distant sounds of people screaming and blades clashing filled the air. The smell of smoke reached his nostrils.

Leon hesitated. “The city gates were open for them, my lord, and the siege tunnels as well.”

That made no sense to Arthur; at any sign of a hostile force the gates would have been shut and the siege tunnels were guarded at all times.

“Someone ordered the gates to be kept open and the guards had been re-assigned,” Leon said.

“Who gave such an order?”

“I am sorry, Sire, but it was Lord Agravaine.”

The depth of the betrayal hit Arthur with the force of a blow. “But surely the guards would have refused to leave their posts, even at his order. He is not in charge of them.”

“It seems at least one did so, Sire. We found the head guardsman of the city gate stabbed, his body left at his post. But the others, with it being a feast day many were merely happy to get to the celebrations early,” Leon said.

Although Arthur understood the longing to join in the festivities going on all around it did not excuse such a dereliction of duty. But there would be no reprisal, by now most would have paid with their lives.

“And we found these at some of the guard points.” Leon held out what looked like a small pouch, now charred and blackened. “Once set alight, it gives off a noxious fume that renders those nearby unconscious. We assume they were insensible when the enemy came through but none were alive to confirm it.”

“How can you be sure it was Agravaine who did this?” Arthur demanded. “I have known my uncle since I was a child, he would never betray Camelot.”

“He marched in with the enemy troops, torching the city. He was seen and recognized by several witnesses, including Elyan.”

The news of his uncle’s treachery on top of the swift and unexpectedly successful invasion was almost more than Arthur could deal with, but he knew prompt action on his part was vital. “Has there been any sign of Morgana?”

“No, Sire,” Leon said. “But these barbarians cannot hope to lay claim to the city without her allegiance. The people, the nobles, the other kingdoms would not allow it.”

“Inform me if there is any word of her.” Arthur looked at Gwaine. “Where is Merlin?”

The shaggy-haired knight shook his head worriedly. “Couldn’t find him.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

“Sire, we cannot hold on much longer,” Leon prompted.

Arthur came to a decision. “Lead the people to the woods, get as many to safety as you can. If Camelot falls, sound the retreat and ensure the men assemble at the meeting place in the Forest of Ascetir.”

Although Leon clenched his jaw at the suggestion that the Southron barbarians might take the city, he acknowledged the king’s orders. With a final bow, he returned to the battle raging through the city.

***

Helios was displeased when he battled through to the palace courtyard to find Agravaine waiting alone. “Where is Morgana?” the warlord demanded. He was as broad as he was tall, his bare arms tattooed, and his barbaric dress and shaved head lit only by the torches they carried emphasized raw strength.

“She will be here, do not concern yourself.”

Helios was known for his fighting skill, not his patience, and the arrogant Agravaine rubbed him the wrong way. “This is not a raid on some petty township,” Helios growled. “Without Morgana we cannot hold power here. My men will be forced to leave with just what they can carry.”

“Which will be worth many a fortune, I have no doubt,” Agravaine said.

“Worth the lives of my men?” Helios shot back.

“Several times over.”

At that moment, Morgana strode up to them, making her way through the battle raging around her as though the violence could not touch her. Helios wondered if there was anything that could.

“Is it taken care of, my lady?” Agravaine asked.

“Emrys is powerless,” Morgana said.

Agravaine appeared relieved as much by Morgana’s confident tone as her words. “All quarters of Camelot are now under our control. The gates are closed against any counter-attack.”

“You’ve done well Agravaine, finally.”

Helios curled his lip at the way the man preened under Morgana’s grudging praise.

“Some knights have fled to the woods, but those that did not escape are either in our dungeons or dead,” Agravaine said.

“The city has fallen,” Helios confirmed. “Camelot is ours.”

“Then it’s time.” Morgana led the way to claim her father’s throne.


	8. The New Age – Daybreak

The door rattled and Merlin looked up, a spark of hope lighting his eyes that it was his magic breaking Morgana’s enchantment. Then he heard the softly-spoken words of someone else’s spell and the door swung inwards. The waning light outside showed a woman standing in the entry. He thought Morgana had come back, but the woman’s clothes were of a rougher fabric and a brighter hue, her hair light brown instead of raven black.

 _Emrys?_ It was a female voice in his mind.

She knelt beside him, the dim light showing pretty brown eyes in a rather plain face. Her hand touched his forehead, or he thought it had although he could not feel any touch, and he saw the Druid tattoo marking her forearm.

 _I heard a scream_ , said the soft voice in his head.

 _I can’t feel my magic_ , he responded, relieved he could talk to her without spoken words.

Her brow knitted. “Can you walk?”

“Everything is numb,” he answered, slurring his words slightly with lips that felt like they were swollen.

“Come with me.”

He tried to get to his feet, stumbling slightly as she steadied him with surprising strength. Although his arms and legs felt deadened, he could walk with an arm around her shoulders. She helped him out the door, turning to the left and striding purposefully up the alleyway.

As they neared a large dwelling on the corner where the alley met a busier street, several women lounging next to the building chatting with each other turned their attention on the pair.

“Better get paid up front,” one of the women advised his escort. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be sober enough to get it up.”

“Need a hand with this one?” a blonde woman asked, eyeing Merlin appraisingly.

The young woman Merlin was leaning on merely smiled in response to them both and led him into the sturdy wooden building. It was the size of an inn, with an upper floor but no sign hung outside to announce its name.

The Druid girl guided him up the stairs. Several doors opened off the long corridor, and as they made their way past the first room the sounds from inside made him blush.

“We’re not usually busy so early in the evening but with the celebrations going on …” His escort shrugged.

She opened the second door on the left and steered him inside, helping him to the pile of blankets she used as a bed where he dropped down, his numb legs too shaky to support him. She closed the door and turned toward him. She was younger than he had thought, probably in her teens. If she was hoping for a customer she would be disappointed.

The Druid girl laughed.

 _Did you hear that?_ he asked in his mind.

At his embarrassed look she immediately sobered. “Yes. I’m sorry I laughed.” Her eyes searched his face. _Why were you screaming?_ she asked without speaking.

_I didn’t know I was._

_Well, not out loud, but I heard it._ Her expression was concerned. “What happened? What did you mean you could not feel your magic?”

Calmer now, he looked down at his hands. The only sensation he could feel from them was cold; although they rested in his lap he could not feel the rough cloth. Raising his palm, he whispered the words of a spell. “ _Forbearnan_.” Nothing.

Frowning, the Druid girl came closer. She laid her hand on his head again, but he could not feel her touch. She looked into his eyes and quietly spoke the words of an enchantment he did not recognize. Then she took one of his hands.

“Can you feel anything?”

He shook his head. “Everything is numb.”

She sat beside him on the blankets, holding his hand. “I don’t know if I can help, but I would try if you tell me what happened.”

“Morgana,” he mumbled through his frozen lips. It was easier to use the mind-to-mind speech so he switched back to the voiceless communication all Druids seemed to have mastered. _Some kind of potion._

The young woman let go of him to fold her hands in her lap. “I can’t cure you, Emrys, but you can.”

He shook his head in despair.

“I have something that will help. Watered down, I give it to the girls if they’ve been too deeply into their cups and need to sober up in a hurry, but in a larger dose with the right incantation and your power I think it could reverse the poison.”

Merlin met her earnest brown eyes. He did not know who she was or why she would help him but he was willing to try anything that would remove the cold, dead feeling inside where the bright spark of magic should be.

A smile lit her plain face as though she had heard his answer. Hopping up, she opened a small chest which sat in a corner of her room to display a collection of vials and bottles which rivaled Gaius’s cupboard. She sorted through potions to prevent pregnancy and disease; salves to hide bruises; glimmers to make one appear younger or more beautiful or to remind a passer-by of a special woman or boy, all wares which brought in a few extra coins and, probably more valuably, earned her the goodwill of her fellow tenants. While she selected a large bottle with a cloth stopper and then rummaged around for a cup, she kept up a steady stream of chatter.

“I’m Gwinna, by the way. I haven’t lived with the Druids since I was a child. I was picking herbs in the forest one day when our camp was attacked; I stayed where I was, frozen in place and covering my ears. Long after the screams stopped and the soldiers were gone, I finally got up enough courage to make my way back but no one was left alive.”

 _I know what happened in the camp by the well all those years ago,_ Merlin said softly.

She looked at him over her shoulder.

_It’s safe to go back there now._

Her smile of gratitude made her plain features prettier, a faraway look touching her brown eyes before she came back to the task at hand. “Afterwards, I walked to the city and here I am. No one around here really cares that I’m a Druid and I make certain to keep the tattoo hidden otherwise.”

As she got to the end of her story she handed him a filled cup. His numb fingers had trouble gripping the cup so she wrapped her hand around his and helped him drink the potion, softly reciting the words of an enchantment as he did so. Her warm fingers eased a bit of the icy cold in his. After he had drunk it all, she took the empty cup and set it aside.

“You’ll have to do the rest,” she said.

He gripped both her hands in his, shut his eyes tightly, and felt for the core of ice which entombed his magic. She did not wince no matter how hard he squeezed her fingers. A tingling sensation like frozen limbs coming back to life moved from her warm hands up his arms, the feeling of tiny needles spreading through the rest of his body. He could sense the core of ice melting, encouraging him to redouble his efforts. The sensation of pin pricks grew worse.

When his eyes snapped open, Gwinna laid her hand on his forehead again, her warm palm slightly sweaty. She sat back with a smile. “You can feel that now, can’t you?”

Merlin steeled himself to put the remedy to the test. He cupped his hands, thinking of what to attempt. Then he whispered “ _gewyrc an lif_ ” and his eyes glowed golden. A tickling in his palms told him the spell had worked. A smile spread across his face as he slowly spread his hands apart to release the butterfly.

“Oh!” A look of delight brightened Gwinna’s face as she watched the coloured insect flutter around her room.

“Thank you, Gwinna.”

Before she could make any reply, a loud cry came from the night-darkened street below followed by a multitude of voices raised in fearful shouts. Merlin smelled smoke.

The din outside when they reached the street was deafening. Crowds of people rushed past with whatever possessions they could transport. Some helped those that had been injured or burned, some carried children. Black smoke drifted over the walls toward them and the roar of flames from inside the city itself added to the cacophony.

“Why are they running away?” Gwinna protested. “They should be helping fight the fire.”

“It’s not just a fire,” Merlin said with a sinking heart. “It’s an invasion.” He had known Morgana and Agravaine were planning something, now his worst fears were realized and he had not stopped it.

“But people should be taking refuge inside the city, not fleeing.” Gwinna was truly puzzled.

“Morgana’s forces have won, they took the city from inside.” Merlin turned to Gwinna. “Get everyone you can to safety. There’s a place in the Forest of Ascetir that will be defended.”

“What about you?”

“I have to find Arthur.”

 

Merlin fought his way through hordes of black-garbed Southrons as well as crowds of fleeing citizens as he raced through streets lit by the fire of burning buildings, changing course whenever flames blocked his path and coughing from the heavy smoke. He knew from the clashing of swords ringing through the palace halls that the invaders were as numerous within the citadel as they had been without. Merlin followed the sounds of the fiercest battle.

When he rounded a corner, he saw Arthur ahead of him in the passageway, fighting off enemy soldiers. As each one was wounded or killed, the next would approach the king in the narrow confines of the hallway. Before Merlin could act, one of the wounded soldiers turned as he fell and struck Arthur a blow across the midsection.

The king grasped the wound, automatically lashing out with his elbow to fell the man behind him but unable to raise his sword quickly enough as yet another enemy faced him. Merlin enchanted one of the numerous fallen weapons scattered among the bodies in the corridor and sent it at Arthur’s opponent. Then he rushed forward to grab Arthur before he collapsed, swinging him around the corner out of sight of the next group of advancing enemies.

“Where have you been?” Arthur gasped out.

“Morgana tried to …” Merlin lapsed into silence, unable to give voice to the horror of having his magic taken away.

“Kill you?” Arthur guessed.

“Worse.” Merlin glanced around the corner, saw the approaching soldiers, and spoke the words of an incantation. “ _Bæl on bryne!_ ”

Torches on either side of the passageway spouted flame, completely blocking the corridor with a burning wall. Merlin supported Arthur’s wounded side with an arm around his shoulders and the two of them moved quickly away.

“They’ll be looking for you,” Merlin said.

“We need to get to the rendezvous point in the Forest of Ascetir.” Arthur leaned heavily on Merlin and tried to stem the flow of blood from his side by pressing his arm tightly against the wound.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” Arthur winced. “Maybe a broken rib or two.”

Merlin was concerned with the amount of blood Arthur was losing but there was no time to treat it even superficially. The attacking forces would remove Arthur both as the main obstacle to Morgana’s claim to the throne and as a rallying point for Camelot’s defenders. They would spare no effort in tracking him down and killing him, and there seemed to be a lot of them within the citadel’s walls. The one advantage was that in the past several years Merlin had done enough sneaking around this place to be familiar with the hidden passageways.

When they reached the lower levels they found Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan ushering the last of the defenders out.

Leon was relieved to see Arthur but his eyes darted past them, looking for the king’s guards. “What happened, Sire?”

“Agravaine knows every place in the palace where we might have met to regroup and plan our defense,” Arthur said. “Even the ones I thought he didn’t.”

“Your guards?”

“All dead.” The look Arthur exchanged with Leon was grave. “We have to abandon the citadel. Have you gotten most of the people out?”

“As many as possible,” Leon said. “We’ll be the last to leave, waiting on your orders.”

“We retreat to the rendezvous in the Forest of Ascetir.”

“Agravaine knows where that is, too,” Leon said.

“It won’t matter, it’s highly defensible.” Arthur clutched his wounded side and momentarily bent double.

“If we can get there,” Gwaine muttered.

“What about the armoury?” Arthur demanded.

“We took what we could carry and torched the rest,” Leon assured him.

“Then let’s go.”

Leon gave the signal for them to make their retreat from the citadel.

By the posthern gate at the edge of the city, they met a group of knights hunkered next to the wall, eyes on the darkness of forest beyond. Leon had a quick consultation and reported back to Arthur.

“Sir Gaheris says the Southron invaders have formed a ring around the entire city. They know you will have to get through in order to make it to any rendezvous. At least in the darkness we have a chance to breach their forces, but it will be risky.”

“We won’t know where their archers are stationed,” Arthur said, clutching his wounded side.

“We can’t wait here.” Gwaine glanced at the blood oozing from between Arthur’s fingers.

“Sire?” Leon questioned.

“We have to try and get through now,” Arthur ordered.

“Arthur,” Merlin said quietly. He waited until the king looked at him impatiently. “I know someone who can help us.”

The blond brows knitted. “Who?”

When Merlin hesitated, a furious expression tinged with fear came over the king. “If you mean that monster –”

“His name is Kilgharrah.”

Both the fury and fear increased. “The thing that tried to destroy this city last time?” He grimaced and clutched at his side.

“Trust me.”

Arthur took several shallow breaths. “I do trust you, Merlin. I don’t trust that beast.”

Merlin glanced at the spreading stain on the king’s mail. “Please, Arthur.”

For a long moment, his friend’s eyes searched his face while the knights closest to them watched carefully and others looked toward them in puzzlement.

“Sire, we have to get you to the camp without delay,” Leon said.

Finally Arthur gave a short, sharp nod and averted his gaze from Merlin.

Merlin eased the wounded king onto Percival’s shoulder, took two steps forward, and raised his head to stare up at the sky. “ _O drakon, fthengomai au se kalon; su katerkheo deuro!_ ” he shouted.

Some of the knights looked over in anger and fear, certain the shout had given away their position, but Percival smiled slightly and watched the sky. In moments, a threatening roar followed by a burst of dragon fire elicited a cry of fear from the ring of enemies in the forest.

Kilgharrah made another pass, breathing fire on the attacking forces, burning and scattering enemy soldiers. Arthur’s knights took up a defensive position even though the dragon did not come near them.

“Take cover,” shouted Sir Gaheris as he moved to protect the king.

Gwaine stepped forward and raised his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen this before, I know how to deal with dragons.”

Elyan rolled his eyes at the show of bravado.

Leon looked to Arthur who kept his gaze on Merlin. Merlin watched the dragon intently, then turned back to the king and gave a nod.

“Let’s go now,” Arthur ordered.

With Percival carrying the wounded king, Leon led the way through the opening in the enemy ranks. As soon as they arrived at the woodland base, they took Arthur to where the wounded were being treated.

At sight of the refugees, Gwen handed her roll of bandages to a brown-haired young woman and rushed to the king’s side. “Arthur!”

Her hands and sleeves were coated in gore and dark circles underlined her eyes.

Arthur returned her embrace with a comforting squeeze of his good arm. “Guinevere.”

She eased him down and began removing his chain mail and outer clothing, forehead creased with worry at the blood.

“Gaius!” Merlin was relieved his guardian had made it safely out of the city. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

The old man greeted his ward with a welcoming hug. “I’m glad I wasn’t in the citadel when it was attacked.” They both knew Agravaine had no love for the court physician; likely one of the first targets of the invading force would have been his quarters.

Gaius moved to examine the king’s injury which Gwen had uncovered and was tenderly washing. A dark bruise spread across his ribs under the deep gash. “This will not heal in a single night, Sire,” the physician said.

“Do what you can. I just need to be able to swing a sword by morning.” Arthur looked at Merlin. “I take it this means Morgana still wants the throne for herself?”

“She made her choice,” Merlin said. And there would be no other chances for her, he vowed silently.

“Perhaps I can try to reason with her,” Gwen said.

“No,” Merlin objected. “If she even catches sight of you …” He shuddered at the memory of her jealous tirade against her former maidservant and what Morgana might do if Gwen were at her mercy.

Gwen watched him closely. “It’s me isn’t it? She hates me.”

“It isn’t anything you did, Gwen,” Merlin said. “She’s bitter and full of hate.”

“And I was blind to her faults, just as I was to my uncle’s. Agravaine is a traitor.” Arthur addressed the words to Merlin as if they were a confession. “You tried to tell me.”

Merlin met the apologetic gaze without speaking.

“I feel like such a fool. I trusted the wrong people,” Arthur said.

“You were deceived, Arthur. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re wrong. It is my responsibility to ensure that those in positions of power can be trusted. I will ensure that in future the right people are beside me.” Merlin’s eyes widened, but without waiting for a response Arthur turned to Gwen and took her blood-stained hands in his. “You should rest while you can. I know how Gaius appreciates all the assistance he can get, but as busy as you have been today, there will be more casualties come tomorrow.”

Gwen smiled faintly and pushed up her sleeves. “Then I better get back to work.”

***

Helios was mostly satisfied with their victory. The one disappointment, and a major one, was that they had yet to locate King Arthur despite their close net around the city. Morgana had taken her seat on the throne and Helios noted with amusement that Agravaine had attached himself to her side. His possessive attitude in the face of her obvious disdain was providing the warlord with a constant source of entertainment. He enjoyed stirring up the other man’s jealousy.

“You should be celebrating, my lady,” Helios said. “I would be happy to accompany you to your new quarters.” He smiled as his eyes met Agravaine’s dark look.

“Taking Camelot was the easy part, Helios,” Morgana snapped.

She had seemed pleased earlier with their success, but as hours passed and the moon rose her impatience for word of the king grew. “I want Arthur. Where is he?”

“We will have news soon, I am certain,” Helios said.

As if on cue, one of his warriors burst into the room. Such lack of discipline was not normally tolerated, but the warlord knew how hot blood could flow in the aftermath of battle. He indicated that the man should give his report.

“I am sorry, but the king has escaped to his forest base.”

As he went on to report how that had happened, Morgana visibly paled.

“The ground is still on fire,” the Southron continued. “The men had been slaughtered.”

Helios was merely annoyed. “There have been no confirmed tales of a dragon attack in more than twenty years, other than one assault on this very city, and the dragon chooses this moment to resume its offensive?”

“It wasn’t by chance,” Morgana said.

Helios regarded her closely. Her self-assured calm which made her one of the few women he held in some respect had broken. She cowered on the throne, a haunted expression in her eyes.

“It was Emrys,” she mumbled to herself. “My destiny and my doom. I made the wrong choice, didn’t I?” She turned frightened eyes to Agravaine.

“Sorcerers cannot command dragons,” he said. “And you know whatever magic he had is gone, he is powerless.”

Helios narrowed his eyes at them both. Morgana would hardly be much help to him if she was quivering with fear. “We must hold our nerve. A dragon is no use inside the citadel,” he said.

“That’s right, Morgana,” Agravaine said. “Even if Merlin is in league with this creature, he would not allow the dragon to destroy Camelot. They want to take the city, not demolish it, and the dragon cannot open the gates for them.”

Morgana straightened her shoulders.

“They will make a counter-attack in the morning,” Helios said. “We must be ready.”

***

In the forest camp, Arthur held a planning session with his knights in an area secluded from the busy area where the wounded were being treated and the refugees were making and serving food. Torches illuminated the area along with the moonlight which reached through the trees. Reports had been coming in all evening from refugees fleeing Camelot which the defenders combined with information from their scouts. Reinforcements from the two closest garrisons had already arrived, but unless their forces could get inside the citadel, any attempt to retake the city would fail.

“What about the drawbridge?” Arthur questioned.

“Well manned,” Leon informed him. “As are the northern gates.”

“The battlements on the south side?”

“Arthur, even if we can gain the battlements, the Southrons outnumber us.”

“Yeah, but only three to one.” Arthur used a stick to draw in the dirt of the ground, demonstrating each point of entry, assigning Leon’s group a battle plan. “These are the entrances they used. Agravaine’s information was good, but he will not know about the ancient catacombs. They won’t be expecting you to come at them from behind any more than we were expecting them. Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, you’re with me, we go in through the main gates.”

“But, Sire, the gates are shut tight,” Elyan said.

Arthur’s eyes slid to Merlin where he waited quietly while they debated military tactics.

“No problem,” was the quiet response.

Understanding dawned on the faces grouped around the king.

“We will penetrate the city and then use the same tactics that were used against us. Leon, lead your men through to the citadel. Once we have secured this area, their warriors will be trapped between our two forces. Then we’ll fight our way through to the throne room, that is where Helios will be. And Morgana.” _With Agravaine by her side_ , he thought, his teeth clenched.

The plans laid, as much as could be decided in advance, Arthur indicated his knights could snatch some sleep if they were able. After their departure, he turned to find Merlin standing behind him. “I should thank you, I mean thank that creature.” He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Please thank Kilgharrah for me.”

Merlin smiled. “I will.”

“Southrons are men, men we can fight. But Morgana – her power is so great, can we answer it? Are your powers equal to hers?”

Merlin pursed his lips. “It’s not that simple. You’ve faced opponents stronger than you are, bigger, and you defeated them. There are different fighting styles, different weapons; no one can master them all.”

Arthur nodded his understanding.

“It’s about skills and training,” Merlin continued. “I have years of learning that Morgana does not, but Morgause would have taught her things on the Isle of the Blessed that only High Priestesses and initiates know. Plus Morgana is reckless; she wouldn’t hesitate to use a spell no matter the price, even if the risk was high to her and everyone else around.”

The king rolled his eyes. “Does that mean we can defeat her or not?” Apparently the ceaseless babbling had been real, not part of his servant’s idiot disguise.

“Yes. We can.” Merlin smiled. “Trust me. I might know something about magic that you do not.”

Arthur wondered how a king could lead his followers against a danger he did not fully comprehend.

 

He found his physician working busily although it was late into the night, a crescent of moon shining above and the smells of strong herbs covering the stench of blood. There was no shortage of patients. Gaius was fully occupied patching up the wounded even with assistance from dozens of citizens who had been forced to flee the city and then found themselves with nothing to do otherwise.

As soon as he saw Arthur, however, he immediately came to meet him where he stood in the trees at the edge of the area being used as an infirmary. “Sire, is your wound bothering you?”

“No,” Arthur replied. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

Gaius glanced back at all the men, women, and children, soldiers and civilians, waiting on his care.

“I know how busy you are, but if you could spare a few minutes…”

Arthur could have demanded the physician’s time, after all the king was responsible to retake the city the next day and anything he needed or wanted was first priority for each and every one of them, but he was sensitive to the needs of the wounded. He would not have requested the physician’s time except that it was important for him to understand.

Gaius turned to one of his impromptu assistants. “Gwinna, take this. You know what to do.”

When she had smiled her understanding and left to tend the patients, Gaius nodded to Arthur, indicating they should move further into the trees for a private conversation.

Arthur took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to frame the queries he wanted answers for. “When we fight tomorrow, we will have to face Morgana.” He held Gaius’s gaze. “I know Merlin has … I know he has magic, and I’ve seen the … the dragon thing, but she is powerful.”

Before he could think of the words to ask the question, Gaius laid a hand on his arm. “Arthur, he doesn’t just have magic,” the physician paused to emphasize his next words, “there are those who say he is the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth.”

“ _Merlin_?” The king wondered if Gaius was making a joke, then images of his bumbling servant who could barely tell which was the pointy end of a sword transposed with memories of a man standing next to a dragon, a wall of flame, a mercenary charging on horseback thrown from his mount, weapons that were flung straight and true even though no hand touched them. “Morgana calls herself a High Priestess.” Arthur did not know precisely what that meant, but it suggested power beyond normal sorcery.

“It’s not the first time Merlin has faced a High Priestess,” Gaius assured him.

Arthur’s disbelief changed to open-mouthed astonishment.

“Who do you think defeated Morgause last year?” the physician said reasonably. “And do you know of Nimueh?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Arthur said. “Rumours about things that happened a long time ago, and people say she was responsible for the troubles a few years back. Geoffrey gave me an earful about her after the last Council meeting, lecturing me on the evils of sorcery.”

“At least some of those stories are true.”

“But she hasn’t bothered us since.”

“Because she is dead.”

The tone was heavy with significance and Arthur looked sharply at Gaius. “Merlin is responsible for her death?”

“And I’m alive because of it,” Gaius said. “If anyone can overpower Morgana, it is Merlin.”

“Why? Why does he do it?” Arthur ran a hand through his already-mussed hair. “He could have stayed in Essetir, gone to another kingdom, gone anywhere. Why wait for me to make it safe for him here?”

“Because he believes in your destiny.”

“What does that mean?”

Gaius folded his hands in front of his embroidered red robe. “You should ask him.”

***

At daybreak, a sea of red cloaks led by King Arthur flooded through the city gates which unexpectedly threw themselves open despite every effort of the Southrons inside. Another river of red came up through the catacombs under the oldest part of the city. The fighting was brief but fierce. Arthur knew the battle was won when they fought their way through to the hall outside the throne room to meet Leon at the head of his forces, the last of the occupying Southron warriors squeezed between them.

Outside the doors of Morgana’s refuge they met the Southron leader himself with five of his men ready to fight to the death. Arthur was not about to underestimate Helios and the fighters most closely guarding the warlord. These would not be child soldiers forcibly recruited from villages, they would be his finest warriors and, from what Arthur had seen, that made them truly formidable.

“One each, pick your man,” Arthur said to his knights. “On me!”

Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan each confronted one of the Southron warriors, Arthur faced off against Helios himself.

The warrior facing Merlin smiled contemptuously to see the young man carried no weapon and raised his halberd with every intention of cutting his opponent down, armed or not. Merlin’s eyes turned gold and the shaft of the weapon glowed red hot in his enemy’s hands. The man’s eyes widened in surprise but he kept a tight grip on the halberd, barely grimacing at the sizzle of burning flesh as he moved to strike Merlin where he stood. In defense, the sorcerer silently raised his hands and the man was thrown backward, his body impacting the corridor wall with a bone-crunching thud.

Handicapped by his wound the previous day, Arthur was hard put to defeat his own opponent. His sword whistled through empty air as Helios moved expertly out of reach. Arthur swung full circle to face the warlord once more. Helios dared him to come closer and Arthur accepted the challenge, raising his sword again. Their blades clashed. Then the warlord blocked the next thrust, landing a sharp uppercut with his fist to Arthur’s face and following it up with blow to his sword arm, forcing him to drop to his knees. The Southron warlord raised his weapon, intending to drive the point straight down and finish Arthur. Gwaine withdrew his blade from the Southron fighter he had bested, but was not close enough to prevent Helios from striking a fatal blow against the king.

Arthur met Helios’s triumphant gaze, his own eyes not betraying any fear, only to see the warlord’s weapon torn from his grip as if by an invisible force. Before the Southron leader could grasp another of the weapons decorating his torso, Arthur drove the point of his own blade upwards. Eyes glazed in shock, Helios crumpled, lifeless. Arthur looked at Merlin in gratitude and received a tiny nod in response.

Leon and Elyan simultaneously felled their separate opponents and turned their attention to the others to see that no other enemies remained standing. They all nodded to each other and Arthur raised his sword.

“For the love of Camelot!” he shouted, and as they raised the chorus in response he burst through the closed doors of the throne room.

Arthur was the first one through the doors, the others ranged behind him, the knights with swords at the ready. Morgana was seated in the throne, Agravaine by her side, not the least disturbed by their dramatic entrance.

“Welcome, dear brother.” She rose to her feet. “It’s been far too long. I apologize if you had a difficult reception. It’s hard to know who to trust these days.”

Arthur’s eyes focused on his treacherous uncle. “Yes,” he agreed softly. Knowing his sword would be of little use against his sister, Arthur held up his weapon by the hilt to show he would not use it, then sheathed the blade. He walked slowly to meet Morgana as she came forward.

They met half way between the throne and the door, eye to eye for the first time since he had seen her usurp the crown from his father, the golden-haired son facing the raven-haired daughter.

“What happened to you, Morgana?” Arthur asked. “I thought we were friends.”

An expression of regret filled her eyes. “As did I. Alas, we were both wrong.”

“You can’t blame me for my father’s sins.”

“No, not you,” Morgana sneered. “Not the beloved son, the golden boy, the heir. Far better to blame the girl with the wrong mother, the bastard daughter who was so foolish as to inherit magic.”

Arthur was taken aback by her spite. “You were always part of this household, treated like family.”

Morgana’s face twisted in her fury. “I _was_ family, not that _he_ would ever admit it. Always all the attention was on you; he thought the sun rose and set in you. He only tolerated me as long as I behaved how he wanted me to behave, the grateful orphan living on his benevolence.”

Her bitterness came as a shock; Arthur remembered it all so differently. He remembered the girl who could elicit a smile from Uther without even trying, while nothing Arthur did ever seemed to please his demanding father. He shook his head. “You’ve lost, Morgana. Camelot is ours.”

“It won’t matter. If you’re dead, Arthur Pendragon, I will be Uther’s only living offspring.” She raised one hand. “Not even Emrys can save you now.” She flung a gloating look at Merlin.

As she began to incant a spell, Arthur stepped back. His hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his sword even though he knew it would not protect him against his sister’s magic.

A pillar of fire formed in the air between them but before it could fully take shape it exploded in her hand. The force of the blast sent a rush of hot air outward which caused everyone in the room to turn their faces away or risk being singed.

Morgana’s eyes jumped to Merlin to see the golden glow fade from his. Panic brightened her green eyes. Without warning she raised her hands, but before she could enact whatever she was about to fling at him, Merlin had already sent a blast of magic in her direction, his face colder than Arthur had ever seen him. Morgana flew backwards, her body landing on the flagstones with a hard crack.

“No!” Agravaine shouted, his blade already in his hand to run the sorcerer through while all of his attention was focused on Morgana.

Before Agravaine could strike, Arthur’s sword sliced into him, cutting him down where he stood. Merlin’s gaze whipped around to see Agravaine fall and his eyes jumped to Arthur in thanks. Arthur gave him a tiny nod.

Gwaine looked at the spot where Morgana had landed, but no one was there. He blinked and looked again. There was no sign of Morgana anywhere in the room although it was not possible that she could have escaped without their knowing.

“What happened?” Gwaine asked in bewilderment.

Merlin stared at the place where Morgana’s body should be. “I don’t know.”

***

The last of Helios’s forces had taken refuge in the Valley of the Fallen Kings and for the time being they were allowed to remain there. Camelot’s surviving warriors had enough work to do restoring order within the city, and without their leader the Southrons did not represent any more of a threat than the bandits who typically occupied the area.

People returned to their homes within and around the city, civilians and warriors buried their dead and mourned their losses. Servants were busily putting the palace to rights. On the king’s orders, Agravaine had been laid to rest near his brother, Tristan du Bois, although Arthur had not attended the man’s funeral. No word reached him from any source of Morgana’s whereabouts, not even whether she was alive or dead.

Knowing there was nothing he could do about that but wait until she showed herself, Arthur turned back to shuffle the parchments in front of him. There had not seemed to be so much paperwork to being king when Merlin was his servant, but of course George would never take it upon himself to handle such things without explicit instructions. Then Agravaine had taken over many of the administrative duties that Arthur hated.

He looked up from where he was seated in his favourite chair at the table in his chamber when Merlin walked in. “Don’t you ever knock?”

Merlin gave him an unrepentant grin.

Arthur motioned for him to sit. Once the sorcerer was seated Arthur leaned back in his chair and regarded his friend with a searching look. Merlin shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you remember when I said that if I was ever king I would make you court jester?” Arthur said.

“Except you told me I’m not funny and I shouldn’t try to be.”

“No, but maybe there is a function you could perform.”

“You’re firing George?”

“I said a function you _could_ perform; I think we both agree being my manservant is not your calling. As dull as he is, George actually knows what he’s doing.”

Merlin gave him a puzzled look.

“I want you to take over the duties Agravaine had assumed as my advisor and right hand man.”

Merlin’s only response was open-mouthed astonishment.

“Since when have you hesitated to offer your opinion or tell me what to do?” Arthur enjoyed having rendered his friend speechless. “An official position where you give me advice must be a dream come true for you.”

“But I don’t have …”

“Wisdom? Courage? Compassion?” Arthur said. “Plus you might know something about magic which I don’t and we’ll need that knowledge as things change in this kingdom. And an ability to spout a never-ending stream of rubbish is considered an advantage on Council.” How his father tolerated the stuffy windbags who made up his court was beyond Arthur. He would be better off with his knights as his closest advisers.

“Do I have to do what you tell me?” Merlin asked.

“No more than you ever do,” Arthur answered.

“Then I’ll take the job.”

“Great.” Arthur pushed the mound of parchment across the table. “You can start by dealing with this.”

Merlin made a face but reached to take the pile.

“By the way,” Arthur added.

Merlin looked at him.

“What did Morgana mean when she said ‘not even Emrys can save you now’? What or who is Emrys?”

A speculative glint came into Merlin’s eyes. “Well,” he began, relaxing in the chair and propping his feet on the table, “the Druid prophecies say there will be a great sorcerer, the most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived, named Emrys; a man with a great destiny who will unite the powers of the old world and the new, and bring the time that the poets speak of; the time of Albion.”

Arthur looked at him skeptically. “Well that sounds like a lot of gibberish.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “And the legends say this renowned land of Albion will be ruled over by the greatest and wisest king, the Once and Future King, and all the other monarchs will look to him as leader.”

The idea of other monarchs, every one he knew of much more experienced than Arthur, looking to him for leadership was absurd. Uther, who was feared and revered by many of the other rulers, had had no power to spread the Purge beyond Camelot’s borders except through negotiation and Arthur lacked even that level of influence. He shook his head in disbelief. “Once and future king – that doesn’t even make sense.”

“I agree.” Merlin dropped his feet back to the floor. “Usually I just refer to him as Dollop Head.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who sent kudos and/or took time to comment – it is truly appreciated!


	9. The New Age – Reunion

She was exactly where the boy had foreseen she would be. They gathered around, hooded due to the early morning chill as well as a habitual desire to conceal themselves even though the Druids were no longer a hunted people in Camelot.

In the midst of the small party, their leader knelt beside her limp form lying on a bed of last year’s dried leaves where she appeared to have staggered and fallen. He threw back the cowl of his cloak which normally obscured his sharp features and grey hair, and checked to see if she lived. The forest was cold this early in spring, but the temperature did not account for the pallor of the woman’s skin. Her perfect features were drained of blood and ice cold, stark against the raven-black hair and black clothing.

The elder kneeling beside the woman’s body looked up at the others. “She breathes, but only just.”

At his confirmation, the group moved to lift the nearly lifeless form, carrying her back to the shelter of their cave.

She was laid as comfortably as possible atop a large smooth stone the size of a bed. Candles chased back the dark shadows, incense filled the cavern with scent, and totems of the Old Religion hung throughout the space. Although they no longer had to live secretly, this refuge remained a special place.

Only three of the Druid healers cared for her directly, but a dozen others ranged around, looking on. They were fascinated by her clothing and her face as much as by the fact that she was a High Priestess. The fine cloth of the woman’s black mourning clothes, although tattered, was much richer than the rough linens they wore and the lines of her patrician features set her apart from them.

The boy who had known where to find her stood grouped with the other onlookers, his face betraying his concern for the unconscious woman.

One of the healers, an elder whose ability with healing magic was renowned among them, swiped a hand across her brow and stepped back with relief. She gestured to the boy to come forward, knowing that when the woman woke it would be best if she saw a familiar face in this strange place.

The boy’s bright blue eyes were fixed on the ashen face of the woman as her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

Her gaze fell on the child’s face and a smile of wonderment lit her pale features. “Mordred?”

The boy smiled back welcomingly. “Hello, Morgana.”


	10. Wedding Plans

Merlin found Arthur in his chamber, but rather than sitting at his desk beginning the morning’s work, he was staring out the window with one foot on the sill and a faraway look on his face. He did not even make any remark about his advisor bursting in without knocking.

“Arthur, the correspondence that needs to be dealt with today before the Council meeting is on top. You need to review this missive from Nemeth – King Rodor has proposed a unique solution to settle the dispute over Gedref.”

“Let them have Gedref.” Arthur remained poised in the window, staring out at the grey morning with a foolish grin on his face.

“I have drafted a response … what?”

“Let Nemeth have those lands. Then everyone will be happy.”

Merlin’s forehead wrinkled and he checked the table to see if it contained any empty wine jugs or flagons of mead. “Not so sure about the Camelot citizens who live there,” he muttered to himself.

“Isn’t it a beautiful morning?” Arthur remarked in a dreamy voice that sounded nothing like his usual arrogant tone.

Merlin looked at the drizzle beyond the window, barely lit by a sun hidden behind dark cloud banks. “Beautiful weather if you’re a toad.”

Arthur chuckled. Merlin looked around again for empty pitchers and then tried to sense whether any magical object was nearby which might be causing such odd behaviour.

Arthur turned from the window. “Set that stuff aside – we have work to do. A lot of effort goes in to organizing a tournament, and we’ll need food – lots of food, the best wine, and flowers – see if you can find flowers at this time of year.”

“Why? What?”

“For the wedding, Merlin.” Arthur smiled as he punched his dumbstruck friend in the shoulder.

“So you’re going to marry Princess Mithian?”

A confused look replaced the self-satisfied smile on Arthur’s face. “Who?”

“What wedding?” Merlin demanded, out of patience.

“Guinevere is going to marry me.”

“You should ask her first.”

“I already did.”

Finally the king’s strange behaviour made sense. “She said yes?”

“Well, she didn’t say anything at first,” Arthur said with a slight frown. “But then she did say yes.” The smile came back in full force.

“She’s the one who needs an adviser,” Merlin said.

“You can’t spoil my good mood today,” Arthur laughed. Then he sobered slightly. “Not even Morgana could ruin this.”

Merlin shuddered. “Don’t jinx it.”

 

When Merlin left the king’s chamber with a list of tasks including all the official announcements that went with a royal wedding, he caught sight of Guinevere, a load of bedclothes in her arms, entering a chamber down the hall. He approached the door of the room to see her standing by the bed, the linens in a pile and a faraway look on her face.

“Good morning, Gwen.”

“Oh, Merlin, you startled me.” She beamed in answer to his grin. “Arthur told you?”

“He couldn’t hold it in. Are you sure you want to settle for one of those big, muscle-y save-the-world types?”

Gwen gave him a reproachful look that was belied by the smile lighting up her eyes. “How could I say no?”

Merlin opened his mouth but she did not wait to hear his advice.

“He came up behind me when I was making beds and blindfolded me, said he had something to show me. He led me to my own house and when he took off the blindfold the whole room was filled with candles.”

“I wonder who helped him plan that,” Merlin said under his breath.

“Then he asked if I would be his wife and he gave me his ring.” She looked down at the royal band, large on her small finger, and squeezed her other hand around it.

“Gwen, I’m happy for you.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“You know,” he observed. “The future Queen of Camelot probably shouldn’t be making beds.”

Gwen looked down at the pile of linen with an expression of surprise. “What does a queen do all day?” she asked.

Merlin lifted his brows and shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m still figuring all this out,” he indicated the pile of parchments under his arm. “Not the work, I mean …”

“A new place in a new age?” Gwen gazed up at him.

Merlin saw complete understanding in her face. “Yes.”

***

The council meeting had been long and Arthur found Geoffrey’s monotone hard to concentrate on at the best of times. The king sat straighter to force himself to pay attention.

“The other rulers of the Five Kingdoms will of course attend. Lord Godwyn and Lord Bayard have also indicated they will be here to pay their respects on the occasion of your marriage.”

Arthur raised his brows at that last piece of information. “Does that mean Bayard intends to renew the treaty he struck with my father?”

Heads around the council table turned to the speaker with the same question in their eyes.

“We will be certain to subtly indicate in our gracious acceptance that such is a requirement of receiving him. No more sniffing at our borders will be tolerated.”

“Sire,” a new voice interrupted.

The king managed not to roll his eyes or grind his teeth at what he knew Lord Aguisel would say. Again. A bastard peasant boy having the king’s ear had been tolerated as long as he knew his place as a servant, but his position on the Privy Council had raised more than a few hackles, Aguisel’s in particular. And now rumours had surfaced about sorcery in the battle to retake Camelot and who might be responsible. At least some of that had to have reached Merlin’s ears, but to Arthur’s knowledge his friend was unaware of the uglier tales swirling around his head, son of a demon being one.

“I would like to note once more that this decision to marry was made without due consideration for the valuable advice of this Council, as has been the case with other questionable decisions made recently by Your Highness.” The meaning of Aguisel’s glare in Merlin’s direction was not lost on anyone.

A glance at Merlin’s thinly pressed lips told Arthur his friend was barely holding his anger in check. ‘ _I could take you apart with less than that_ ,’ the dark-haired, big-eared peasant boy had challenged in Camelot’s dusty street and Arthur had laughed, judging the skinny newcomer by his appearance. Aguisel was a fool to make the same mistake. But Merlin was human and vulnerable should the hateful talk turn to action. It would be best to placate the noble while making it clear the issue was not open to debate any more than his choice of wife.

“Thank you, Lord Aguisel.” Arthur was proud that his tone was polite while he weighed yet again whether it was less dangerous to have the man at court stirring up resentment or away at his own estate hatching who knew what. “I will endeavour to accord the Council’s collective wisdom the respect it is due in future. Leon, any news of the Saxons?”

“My lord, so far they have kept to the Saxon Shore but King Alined and King Olaf in the south continue to watch the border carefully.”

“Have the Saxons begun to call up their citizenry to mount an assault?”

“There is at least some truth to those rumours.” Leon looked uneasy. “Sire, I don’t believe either Dyfed or Gwyned alone could hold off the Saxons if they decided to extend their boundaries.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “None of the Five Kingdoms alone can hope to defeat them; our only chance will be to stand together.” The last time that had happened was when Uther Pendragon led their combined forces against the Saxons and driven them south and east where they remained until now. With Uther gone, apparently the Saxons believed the time was ripe to strike again.

“What of the East Saxons?” Tudwal asked. “Would Essetir be able to hold them back from our eastern border?

“King Lot is no friend of the Pendragons,” Sir Ector said.

When the Five Kingdoms had temporarily banded together under Uther, Lot had refused to join them. He had successfully held his borders alone, but his forces were stretched now he had annexed Essetir to Lothian.

“Nor will he welcome a Saxon invasion,” Arthur said. "The time is coming when the Five Kingdoms will need to band together with all the kingdoms of this land against our common foe.” Which meant uniting the forces of Mercia, Gawant, and Caerleon as well as Essetir while keeping the Five Kingdoms allied when there was still division on the question of magic. Arthur sighed.

After the king had dismissed the Council and the others had left the room, Merlin spoke. “You were right, all the kingdoms of Albion must stand united, but they cannot do that without one strong leader.”

“When the need arises, one of the rulers will step forward,” Arthur said. “Possibly Gwyl or one of his sons, maybe Olaf. I hate to admit it but frankly Lot would be a strong choice and he has no quarrel with magic.”

Before Merlin could reply, Gwen entered the room.

Arthur’s face lit up. “Guinevere!”

“Should I be concerned about the royal guests coming to compare me unfavourably with every princess in the realms?”

“You will charm each one of them and I will be the envy of all the rulers in this land.” Arthur took her hand to escort her to a chair. “They are coming to give me the same drubbing the Council does, and over the same issues. King Alined especially hates magic.”

“His jester’s a sorcerer,” Merlin said.

“What?” Arthur looked at his friend in astonishment.

“Trickler is a sorcerer.” Merlin’s brow crinkled. “Oh, that reminds me I never could remove the love spell from Lady Vivian. That might be a problem.”

Arthur stared. “Anything else I should know before our guests arrive?”

“Elena was possessed by a Sidhe as an infant so they could have a Sidhe queen on the throne of Camelot when your marriage was eventually arranged.” Merlin gave the king an innocent look. “But it’s okay, it’s taken care of.”

“I like Elena,” Gwen said. “I can’t say the same of Vivian. She was absolutely horrible to all the servants.”

Merlin nodded. “Some of the nobility think they earned the right to be waited on hand and foot simply by being born.”

“And they treat the slightest inconvenience to them as a tragedy,” Gwen said. “But if you sit down for a moment they accuse you of being lazy.”

“Like they believe they’re better than you and you were put on this earth to make their lives comfortable.”

“And you have no thoughts or feelings yourself or anything better to do in that moment.”

Arthur looked from one to the other. “If the two of you are going to sit here gossiping for the rest of the evening perhaps we should summon some underappreciated servant to light the candles.” He gestured at the deepening shadows in the room.

Merlin waved a hand and flame sprung to the wicks.

Arthur started.

“Oh, sorry,” Merlin said with a grin.

Certain his friend was needling him, Arthur smiled to see Gwen send him a reproachful look.

Merlin coloured slightly. “Really I am. I’m getting used to doing things the easy way. Gaius doesn’t mind so much anymore if I take a few short cuts.”

Arthur caught the implication of that statement. “What shortcuts did you take before?”

“Well, sometimes my chores had to get done quickly and I had other things to do.”

His innocent expression was hiding either embarrassment or amusement.

“You used magic as my servant?”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“You could have been caught,” Arthur said to hide his discomfort with the idea of sorcery being used so freely around him without his noticing.

“That’s what Gaius kept telling me.”

Arthur concluded it was definitely amusement on his friend’s face.

Gwen gazed up at the candles. “Can you put them out that easily, too?”

A cold breeze swept through the room and the candles sputtered out.

“Merlin!” Arthur said.

“That wasn’t me,” Merlin protested. “ _That_ was the wind.”

“Perhaps you can be more circumspect around our royal visitors,” Arthur said with a quelling glare.

“The knights will be in seventh heaven with all the available females accompanying the queens to Camelot,” Merlin said.

“They won’t constrain themselves to the available ones.” Gwen smiled.

“Hopefully the knights are better at romantic gestures than Arthur,” Merlin said.

Gwen looked at him inquiringly.

“Is he really holding a tournament in your honour before the wedding?”

“It’s tradition,” Arthur said. “My father did the same before his marriage ceremony.”

Merlin shook his head in mock sadness. “And here I thought you were completely different from Uther.”

Arthur felt his gut tighten at the harmless jest. “I may disagree with certain of my father’s attitudes, but he was a strong king. We’ll be lucky if this land enjoys peace from the Saxons for half as long as we have since he defeated them thirty years ago.”

His friend’s face whitened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

“It’s okay Merlin.” Arthur forced a smile to lighten the mood again. “You know nothing about royal weddings.”

“I know you could have picked flowers or had a poem written for your future wife and instead you’re giving her two days of sweaty men knocking the sense out of each other.”

Gwen gazed fondly at Arthur. “I understand. And I’m flattered.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, Merlin,” Arthur smirked. “But I’m the one who has the girl.”


	11. Guest at the Wedding

Over the years, the citizens of Camelot had grown accustomed to Arthur’s manservant barrelling his way through crowds on one urgent errand or another. They had learned to dodge out of his way and respond to his shouted apologies with good-natured curses. Now it struck Merlin how people in the bustling palace corridors and on the busy streets silently moved aside no matter how sedate his pace, refusing to meet his eyes as though afraid of catching his attention. He hunched his shoulders as he made his way through the city. Once or twice a voice in the crowd muttered an imprecation about sorcery but never so that he could identify the accuser.

Merlin had overheard a few of the tales about a dragon attacking the Southrons and of the city gates opening themselves, the stories getting more outlandish as they were spurred on by Aguisel and Tudwal and others like them. His sudden new position after being banished from the king’s side raised suspicions about him and people were linking facts with wild speculations.

He walked more quickly through the streets toward the blacksmith’s forge. George had come to him distressed that he could not find Gwen. She was not in her rooms or anywhere else in the citadel. George had already searched everywhere Merlin could think of except one place no one else would look.

“Gwen?” Merlin knocked and slowly pushed open the door of Gwen’s modest dwelling near the forge. To his knowledge she kept it despite having moved into her new chambers in the palace.

She was sitting at the rough-hewn table, wearing one of her servant dresses which she had expertly sewn herself, her hair in a simple but serviceable twist. A jug of wine was on the table along with a goblet, although he had not known her to drink except with meals.

She looked up at him with teary eyes. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t sing, I never say the correctly ladylike thing, those clothes were too warm, and my hair was being pulled out of my scalp.”

Merlin thought the crown of braids with a cascade of dark curls down her back had been quite becoming. “Gwen, did something happen today when you were entertaining the other queens?”

She regarded him with red and swollen eyes. “I was so nervous I picked up the tray and offered refreshments to Queen Ysmay instead of letting the serving girl do it and Ysmay looked at me like I had offered to dance naked in front of them. Then Queen Eleynora snickered and said something in a loud whisper to her lady about serving girls dressing up as royalty.”

“Is that all?” Merlin asked, holding back a smile.

“The meat that was butchered for today’s meal went bad and we’re going to have to feed them all fish tonight and the wine for the wedding feast went sour and the flowers wilted even though they were fresh yesterday and it will take days to get more! My wedding gown is torn.” She indicated the pile of bejewelled red cloth which had been tossed on the bed along with the finely beaded gown she had been wearing earlier. “This wedding is cursed!”

“The dress will be mended and so what if royalty have to eat fish tonight?” Merlin crouched beside her chair and took one of her hands. “You’re marrying Arthur and he loves you.”

He could see a little of the stress of the past few weeks drain out of her.

“That’s right,” Gwen said. She put her other hand on top of his and squeezed. “I almost forgot that’s what this is all about. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin squeezed back. “I had to remind myself, too.” He regarded her closely. “Are you ready to go back to your chamber so I can put George out of his misery and tell him where to find you?”

“Not yet.” Gwen gazed around the homey little dwelling she had occupied with her father and then by herself. “I like it here. Everything in this hut is all mine, and it is exactly where I chose to put it.”

“In time it will be the same in your new chamber; it’ll feel like home,” Merlin said.

Gwen gave him a quelling look. “You can talk. I know Arthur offered you the apartments Agravaine used but you are still living in an old storage room in the physician’s chamber.”

Gwen had seen through his excuses, knowing how intimidating it felt to leave the comfort of home no matter how grand a new place might be. Merlin had no doubt that she was also aware of how people seemed apprehensive around him now, how whispered conversations halted when he walked by, making life in the palace lonely for him.

“Gaius needs me there,” Merlin said.

“What would he say to that excuse?”

Merlin grinned wryly at Gwen’s astute question. “Probably something that would be said with one eyebrow reaching his hairline.”

They both smiled.

“You know, I have another goblet around here,” Gwen offered.

Merlin thought about the paperwork, the cold stares and furtive looks, waiting for him back in the citadel, then he took the chair opposite Gwen. “Let George pull his hair out for a while longer. I have time for a drink.”

 

A few hours later, Gwen tried to stand and then flopped back down in her chair with a giggle. Merlin turned to look at her and the room spun briefly.

She leaned over conspiratorially and asked, “Why don’t you have a girl, Merlin?”

His eyebrows went up in an imitation of Gaius.

“Seriously,” Gwen said. “Other than a glazed look in your eyes whenever Morgana used to walk by, you haven’t looked twice at a woman.”

Merlin stared into the depths of his cup. “How would you know?”

A smile spread across her face. “Well, tell me about her.”

He sighed. “Gwen, I promise you, that is not something I want to talk about.”

His tortured expression must have convinced her to leave off questioning him further because she sat back, looking disappointed. “Well, if she made you aware of her then she has my respect.”

“I’m aware of more that’s gone on around here than anybody else in Camelot,” he said.

“Big things maybe, but you are completely clueless about other things.” He made a rude noise but she was undeterred. “Sefa’s been making eyes at you since she got here.”

His forehead wrinkled trying to concentrate through the fuzziness in his head. “Who?”

“The new maidservant.”

“Pretty girl with reddish-brown hair?” He remembered a time when he had thought she intended to ask him something, but his attention had been called elsewhere and he had forgotten about it.

“You have noticed her.” Gwen smiled. “But then I suppose since everyone knows you have the king’s ear you are besieged with people who want to use your influence.” She exhaled noisily, blowing a lock of hair out of her face.

Merlin wondered if she was talking about him or herself.

“It’s the falseness that annoys me the most,” she continued. “Like Lord Elgin talking about honour and loyalty and faithfulness like I haven’t worked closely for the last however many years with the maids who change his bedsheets, including the ones who share that bed.”

Merlin chuckled. “The courtiers believe that because they never noticed _you_ before, you were equally unaware of _them_.”

“I guess it’s all valuable knowledge I can put to good use now,” Gwen sighed. “At least Arthur’s not like that. He treats everyone equally.”

Merlin choked on his wine, coughing and spluttering until Gwen patted his back.

She laughed at the expression on his face. “I know he _used_ to be an arrogant, overbearing prat but you changed that.”

Merlin slanted her a look, still coughing. “You only think so because he’s on his best behaviour around you – he knows you’ll take him down a peg if he steps out of line.” His tone grew more serious. “You’re good for him, Gwen. You’ll make a wonderful queen.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” Gwen patted his arm.

“Gwen, are you ever …” Merlin stared into his goblet. “Are you ever glad Uther is dead?”

Her dark eyebrows knitted beneath a few tight dark curls that trailed across her forehead. “I know Arthur would never be able to marry me, or even acknowledge our relationship if Uther was still alive, but I’m not glad he’s dead. I know how much Arthur misses him. But I am pleased to have this chance at happiness and I intend to enjoy every moment of being by Arthur’s side without any more hiding or pretending.” She leaned closer and put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay if you’re happy Arthur is king now. That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

Her warm smile and soft touch were as comforting as her words. Merlin felt a knot of guilt ease.

“I should get back now.” Gwen got up from her chair but she swayed slightly when she did.

“I’ll help you.” Merlin jumped to his feet only to have the world tilt. He grabbed the table to keep from falling.

Gwen giggled again, balancing herself with some difficulty. “You’re going to be a lot of help.”

“Maybe I should get someone,” Merlin said, choosing practicality over gallantry.

“That would be a good idea.” Gwen grinned. “Someone discreet who never steps out of line and won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

They looked at each other and said simultaneously, “George!”

***

No effort had been spared to impress the kings meeting with Arthur in Camelot’s throne room. Red banners with the distinctive gold dragon hung wherever there was space, red silk cushions graced the chairs, and every guard and servant wore his finest court livery. The ostentatious display did not, however, prevent the rulers of the Five Kingdoms and its allies from attempting to assert their influence on Camelot’s young sovereign.

“If your father were here.” Lord Bayard stood. He drew himself up to his full impressive height, towering over the other monarchs seated around the table, and glared directly at Arthur.

“He isn’t,” Arthur said, meeting the other king’s eyes and not allowing his gaze to waver.

“More’s the pity,” Bayard said contemptuously. “Sorcery is a blight on this land.”

He gave up trying to stare down the young ruler and glanced around at the others in the room. King Rodor and King Alined were in open agreement with him, not that anyone trusted Alined.

“You are young, Arthur,” grey-haired King Rodor said. “Too young to understand.”

“You may be too quick to dismiss Arthur solely for his youth,” King Olaf said. “He showed wisdom as well as fighting skill when he faced me in single combat. The peace and security of the Five Kingdoms has rested on the treaty forged that day.”

“I said he would make a great king one day,” elderly Lord Godwyn said. “All I have seen and heard in the years since has strengthened that assessment.”

Bayard frowned. “Yet he openly tolerates sorcery, even to using it in his recent battle to retake this very city which Arthur nearly lost.”

“Lost due to treachery and deceit,” King Gwyl said. His bushy white beard moved when he talked but his lips were all but invisible between mustache and beard. “Yet he triumphed in the end, and why would you condemn him for using such a powerful tool? A king with magic at his side is a king to follow.”

Arthur blinked in surprise at the wink he received from white-haired King Gwyl. _Was that a sign of approval?_ Arthur remembered his father complaining that Gwyl’s kingdom was a haven for the Druids; that their presence was tolerated even to the point of being a sanctuary for those of the Old Religion. A warm feeling uncurled in the pit of his stomach at the open support from Olaf, Godwyn, and Gwyl – all many years his senior who had been ruling kingdoms when Arthur was a babe.

“The Saxons will not long be content with the land they occupy along the Saxon Shore,” Arthur said. “We all know they have cast their eyes west and north for a generation and when they make their bid to expand their territory we must stand together. If we allow disagreement over magic,” he looked at Bayard, “or a dispute over land,” he looked at Rodor, “to divide us, never turning against our common enemy, we are lost.”

There was a hush among the rulers of the Five Kingdoms at his words. Even Rodor could not dispute the wisdom of the youngest monarch among them.

Camelot’s king stood. “I will see you all at the supper banquet.”

Arthur maintained his look of quiet resolve as his royal counterparts made their way out of the room followed by their advisors and guards. After the door closed behind them, Arthur allowed his head to drop into his arms.

“That went well,” Merlin commented, deadpan, stepping forward to sit in a chair beside the king.

Arthur did not lift his head. “At least we established that my choice of wife was no concern of theirs.”

“Why should it be?”

Arthur turned his head so one eye could focus on his friend.

“The Five Kingdoms are allies,” Merlin said. “None of them has anything to gain by a strategic marriage, Bayard has no daughter, and Godwyn seems happy to have Elena ruling beside him.”

“I suppose.” Arthur lifted his head to meet the sorcerer’s eyes. “In Camelot my word is law, but I have no authority to lift the ban on sorcery in the other kingdoms. They agreed with my father that magic was an evil plague on this land and maybe at the time it was the right thing to do.” Arthur ignored the stubborn look that came into Merlin’s face. “These men were ruling kingdoms when I was in the cradle, who am I to tell them what is best for these lands?”

“For all your many faults you are honest and brave and true-hearted and one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known. They will all look to you as their leader.”

Arthur regarded him. “Are you taking up prophecy now?”

“No.” Merlin shuddered.

It sounded like the voice of experience and Arthur wondered if it was possible for his friend to have seen future events.

“But I believe in you, I always have,” Merlin said.

***

The armoury echoed with the rattle of chain mail, the scrape of blades being sharpened, and laughter from ribald jests being exchanged as Merlin entered the room. The knights who had returned from daily patrol were removing their armour and weapons to be cleaned and stowed. Percival was quietly sharpening his sword. George was collecting the king’s armour, the tips of his ears red at the talk going on around him.

Merlin smiled to himself at how the arrival of a dozen ladies-in-waiting and their maids combined with anticipation of the upcoming tournament had lightened the mood among those who had survived the last battle for Camelot. The presence of the women created opportunities for single and married men alike, although of somewhat different kinds. Or maybe not so different.

A cold draft fluttered the pennants on the wall. Merlin frowned and looked more closely at the rack of weapons behind Percival, not certain what seemed out of place. Shaking his head when he could see nothing amiss, he turned to deliver his message.

“Leon, Arthur would like to speak with you,” Merlin said. “He’s in the throne room and will be for some time yet.”

“Careful, Sir Leon. You know you can’t trust a word that comes out of a sorcerer’s mouth.” Sir Gaheris glared venomously at Merlin. “They’re evil and a curse on all good people around them.”

Gwaine came to his feet, fists at the ready, and Percival stopped sharpening his blade, at ease but ready to step in if needed. Gwaine’s cold stare caused most men with any sense of self-preservation to back down from an argument with him, but Gaheris appeared to be bursting for a fight.

“I would trust Merlin with my life,” Gwaine stated icily, tossing his dark hair back from his face.

“Well, the life of a commoner isn’t worth much, is it?” Gaheris said. “King Uther must be rolling over in his grave at all the changes going on around here.”

“Sir Gaheris.”

Reluctantly the knight pulled his eyes away from Gwaine’s challenging gaze in answer to Leon’s command.

“Take our report to the next patrol while I meet with the king,” the First Knight ordered.

Gaheris looked back at Gwaine, both silently acknowledging there would be a future reckoning, then the older knight left to carry out his orders.

Gwaine rounded on Leon as soon as the Gaheris left the armoury. “That’s it? No reprimand, no punishment, nothing to tell him he can’t speak about Merlin like that?”

“He has served this kingdom faithfully since boyhood, and you expect him to accept overnight that everything he has been fighting for was wrong?”

The dark-haired knight gave Leon a disgusted look.

“We served together as squires and then as knights,” Leon continued. “I have known Gaheris a long time and he’s a good soldier and a good man.”

“Is that why you’re defending him?” Gwaine challenged.

“I am not defending him, I am willing to understand,” Leon said.

“Did you also hunt and murder sorcerers with him?” sneered the younger knight with a toss of his dark hair.

“Gwaine!” Elyan said.

Leon made no response to the cutting taunt. Deliberately holding his obvious anger in check, he spun on his heel and left the armoury, giving Merlin an apologetic glance as he passed.

It was Elyan who broke the tension in the air. “Gaheris doesn’t speak for all of us or even most of us,” Elyan said to Merlin. “Gwaine doesn’t either, usually, but in this case … I also would trust you with my life.”

“As would I,” Percival added.

Merlin’s mouth opened and closed, choked at their faith in him and their willingness to declare it. “Thank you,” he finally managed. “And thanks, Gwaine.”

“Any time, my friend,” he answered gruffly.

In the subsequent silence, George noisily gathered up the armour which needed polishing. The knights masked any emotion they might have revealed by their declaration of loyalty as Percival resumed sharpening his blade and Gwaine and Elyan went back to stowing their chain mail.

George expertly balanced his load as he paused in front of Merlin. “What that knight said about sorcerers – he doesn’t speak for anyone else in Camelot, either.”

Merlin looked at George in surprise. They had exchanged barely an occasional word and Merlin realized he knew little about the king’s new manservant. “Thank you. And good luck with that,” he indicated the pile of armour.

George’s face lit up. “Polishing is my favourite.”

Merlin tried to swallow his disbelief that anyone could enjoy such a task. “Yes it’s my favourite, too,” he lied politely.

“Really?” George exclaimed eagerly. “Is it the relaxation of having your hands busy while your mind is free to drift, or is it seeing how the metal starts to shine under your efforts?”

“Umm,” Merlin mumbled.

“I’d like to show you a trick or two I’ve learned and we can compare notes.”

Merlin found himself being shepherded out by the enthusiastic George.

“You’re free right now, aren’t you?” he went on. “And you could tell me of any special preferences the king has which he hasn’t had time to instruct me about.”

As he was half-dragged out the door Merlin looked helplessly back at Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival but not one of them saw fit to rescue him this time, not bothering to hide their amused grins.

***

Gwen was enjoying her moment of solitude even though she had to go to the oldest, most deserted corner of the castle to get it. She was tired of being in the company of guests whose conversation ranged from well-meaning but condescending advice to veiled insults. Between the curiosity of their royal guests and the fussing of the two ladies’ maids who had been assigned to prepare her chambers, oversee an entire wardrobe for her, dress her hair in a dozen experimental ways, instruct her in music, and generally transform a maidservant into a queen, Gwen had had enough of being taken apart and reassembled.

The silence in the drafty corridor was broken only by the scrabbling of mice disturbed by the light from the candle she carried. It was cool and dark here where no torches had been lit, with a musty smell that combined with the dust in the air to tickle her nose. It was cool as well, the thick stone walls which kept out the spring breezes also kept out any warmth from the sun, especially in the corridor where no windows let in the afternoon daylight.

Gwen shivered as a cold breeze moved past her, rattling the empty wall sconces and causing her candle to flicker. Her eyes were drawn to the dark corners of the hallway and she could not resist holding the candle higher, peering intently at the empty space to see if there was something looking back at her malevolently. Chiding herself for being spooked, Gwen decided she had best return to the bustle and press of wedding preparations.

As she moved toward the staircase at the end of the corridor another cold breeze caused her to shiver, more with a feeling of dread than chill. She spun around, her eyes darting left and right, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. But the hallway was empty, no sound of a footfall to be heard.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, no doubt due to nerves and stress, Gwen started again toward the stairs. When she reached the top step, a cold breeze extinguished the candle she was holding as the rush of air propelled her forward. Her foot touched nothing but emptiness in the sudden dark and with a cry she felt herself tumble down the long flight of stone stairs.

***

“Are you all right, Gwen?”

She heard Merlin’s familiar voice and tried to remember where she was. She recalled a dark hallway and a flight of steps, but she could feel the softness of a bed beneath her now. She lifted her hand which caused a shooting pain to cut through the dull ache she had begun to feel in her shoulder.

“Gaius says not to move the arm much,” Merlin said. “He set the broken bone but it needs time to heal and you have quite a few bruises. This will reduce the pain.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose at the smell of the tiny bottle.

“You gave everyone a scare when you disappeared. I think Arthur believed you had second thoughts and left Camelot.” The lightness in Merlin’s voice was belied by a look of concern on his face.

Gwen squinted at him through the aches making themselves felt now that she was conscious. He had not asked her what she was doing in that part of the castle; she was sure he understood why she had found a lonely, quiet spot.

“I better let Arthur know you’re awake.”

“Merlin.” Gwen’s voice was hoarse. “Before I fell, I thought, well it sounds silly but …”

The seriousness in her voice had him bending close to hear her next words.

“It seemed like there was something watching me, something that wished me ill, even though there was no one there.”

***

Merlin poked at the slice of venison soaked in gravy.

Gaius looked from the barely-touched meal to his ward’s vacant stare. “Percival is fine if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Merlin glanced up. “Percival?”

“There was an accident in the armoury after they returned from the last patrol.”

“The knights are never careless with weapons.”

“Yes, it sounded strange. Neither Gwaine nor Elyan gave much of a coherent answer to my question about what happened. Something about a rack tipping over and sending weapons flying through the air. I was quite surprised a falling axe caused such a deep wound; Percival was lucky it only struck his shoulder or he could have been severely injured. Elyan barely escaped being injured as well, they said.”

Merlin gave up any pretense of eating. “What do you know about curses?”

“Is Lord Aguisel bothering you that much?”

“I don’t want to cast one, I want to stop one.”

Gaius folded his hands in front of him without speaking.

“Gwen said this wedding was cursed, and I think she’s right.”

“Why do you think that?”

“She told me that before she fell she thought something was watching her.”

“People often get a feeling like that in a dark corner. And Gwen has been under a lot of pressure lately,” Gaius said.

“The other evening in the armoury, I thought I felt something out of place. It must have been just before Percival was injured.”

The old man wrinkled his brow. “Out of place?”

Merlin shrugged. “I can’t explain it, I’m not even certain I really noticed anything. But it was like Gwen said, there was a presence.”

“Do you think it’s Morgana?” Gaius asked. “She opposes this marriage and she has the power to cast a curse.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Merlin gazed at him. “But what is it exactly and how do we stop it?”

“I don’t know,” the physician admitted. “We’ll have to wait and keep our eyes peeled.” Gaius fixed his ward with a sharp look. “Be careful.”

“I always am.” Merlin gave him an innocent look when his guardian’s eyebrow rose to his white hairline. Then the young man grew serious again. “Gaius, do you wish I would take the rooms in the palace Arthur offered to me?”

The old man was taken aback. “No. Why would I?”

His ward looked at the meal they were sharing which Gaius had prepared. “It would be less work for you if I wasn’t here.”

“Yes it would,” the physician admitted softly. “But I fear my heart could not stand the peace and quiet.”

***

Merlin was the only one left in the Council chambers. He was glad to be alone for a moment because the glares he had received from a few of those in the room – Aguisel and Tudwal foremost among them – weighed on him. He had thought time would bring them around, but as the weeks passed it was becoming clear that some of those closest to the throne would never tolerate a sorcerer or a peasant boy in their midst. If not for Arthur and Gaius and Lord Ector along with Gwen’s support, Merlin would have despaired long ago that the prejudiced attitudes Uther had fostered could be changed.

He shivered as a breath of cold brushed past him, then his attention was caught by the vacant chair at the head of the table. He felt someone sitting there, staring at him hatefully, even though there was no one else in the room. Shaking his head, he turned back to the task at hand. At his glance the parchments, ink well, quills, and royal seal gathered themselves into a neat pile, but before he could collect them another cold breeze swept around the room extinguishing every torch and the candles on the table.

“ _Bæl on bryne_.” When his spell re-lit the flames his eyes snapped back to the vacant chair as if he had heard a silent scream of rage. The chair launched itself at him with enough force to break bones, but his eyes flashed and it slammed to a halt like it had hit a stone wall, falling to the floor with a crash. At that, the anger he could feel in the room became palpable, the air whirling faster and faster, creating a maelstrom of scrolls, ink, and quills.

Merlin dodged the first few items which came hurtling out of the mini-whirlwind but when another chair launched itself at him he raised his hands and sent a blast of magic at whatever was angrily stirring the atmosphere in the chamber. As if a stronger wind had come along to blow the whirlwind away, all the items that had been spinning in the air were whisked toward the wall, bouncing off it or fluttering to the ground until all was still.

Merlin waited for a long moment, but he could no longer feel any other presence in the room. He gathered up the seal and parchments leaving everything else where it had fallen and went to find Arthur.

***

Merlin burst into the royal chamber without ceremony, a stack of scrolls under his arm. “There is evil here.”

Arthur did not bother to point out that his advisor had barged in without knocking again. He had just removed his court jacket which George was carefully brushing out before putting it in its proper place. Merlin acknowledged George with a small smile.

“Why do you say that?” Arthur asked, wondering what gibberish his friend was going to spout about another of his funny feelings.

“I don’t think Gwen’s fall down the stairs was an accident. She told me she thought there was a presence before she tripped, and just now I was alone in the Council chamber when I felt a presence, an angry presence. And it’s getting stronger – it threw chairs around the room.”

Arthur pinned him with a look. “You think Guinevere is in danger?”

“She might be.” Merlin held the king’s gaze steadily. “I think there’s a curse on this wedding.”

“Is it Morgana’s doing?” The king braced himself to face her next threat.

Merlin’s brow creased. “Maybe, but it didn’t feel like it.”

“ _Feel_ like it?” Despite his worry for Gwen, Arthur tried to be patient, wishing this was something solid, something he could fight.

Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe the curse is about more than the wedding, maybe it’s on all the changes you’re making. It seemed the more I used magic, the angrier the presence or whatever it was got.”

“What do we do?” Arthur demanded.

“Make sure Gwen is never alone, have everyone alert for strange occurrences, and tell me if anything else happens. I’m going to talk to Gaius.”

***

Arthur awoke from the dream and lay quietly, breathing deeply, waiting for his rapid heartbeat to calm. It had been so real. Usually when he woke he could not recall his dreams, uncertain if he even had any. But this one was etched in his memory: his father standing at the foot of his bed, staring down at him with a furious expression. Arthur shuddered at the malevolence of that stare – it had been inhuman. Of all the rages he had seen his father fall into, this one had been colder and more vengeful, as if his own father wished him dead.

The king sat up and looked at the foot of his bed, half expecting the apparition to be standing there, then frowned to see the royal crown atop his footboard. George would never be so inattentive as to leave such a valuable item lying there, not even Merlin would have been so careless. When he thought about it, Arthur realized the crown should not be there at all – it should be locked safely away, waiting for the upcoming ceremony.

As he watched, puzzled, the crown lifted itself into the air and hurtled directly at him. Instinctively he ducked, hearing the metal crunch into the headboard behind him. Before he could ponder how that had happened, the royal seal lifted from his work table and launched itself at his head. Again he ducked, leaping up to draw his sword – although there was no physical enemy to fight – and calling for the guards. A cold breeze whipped past him as his chamber doors were flung open and the guards rushed in.

“Sire?”

Arthur looked around in the dim moonlight from the windows but there was no one else in the room. He sheathed his sword and ran a hand through his hair. “Summon George for me.”

The guards looked at one another in confusion. “Is there anything else, Sire?” one asked hesitantly.

“No.”

When George arrived, Arthur asked him to light every torch and candle in the room and bring a jug of wine. “The strongest wine you can lay your hands on.”

He was on his second cup, fingers drumming the table top, when the door opened again. The king glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his solitude.

“Arthur?”

The king downed the wine. “What are you doing here?”

“George sent for me,” Merlin said.

“I never asked him to do that.”

“You said he anticipates your every need.” Merlin’s tone was bland but a tiny smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

“Another servant who takes it upon himself to do what he thinks best without consulting me? Seriously? Is it me, am I cursed?” Arthur filled the cup again.

“I don’t know, are you? George came to say you were up and dressed in the middle of the night and calling for strong wine. He looked concerned about you.” Merlin took a chair facing Arthur. “Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”

Arthur sighed. “I know who’s been causing all the trouble and it isn’t Morgana, it’s my father.”

“Uther’s dead.”

“I saw my father tonight, standing in my room, and I got the impression, I mean it seemed like …” Arthur paused and took a deep breath. “I believe he wanted to kill me. I thought it was just a dream but it felt real – especially when it started throwing things at me. It is Father’s spirit, or some part of him that’s angry enough to want to kill Guinevere, and probably you, and maybe me.” Arthur swirled the contents of his freshly filled cup, staring into its depths. “It seems my father doesn’t approve of the way I have chosen to rule his kingdom.”

“You mean _your_ kingdom,” Merlin said.

Arthur acknowledged the reproach with a glance before he went back to staring into his cup. “I thought I’d never see my father again. There isn’t a day that passes when I don’t think of him. There are times when I feel so alone, I wish more than anything he was by my side, and now I fear if he was at my side I wouldn’t like what he had to say.” Arthur looked up. “The decisions I have made; about the knights, about marrying Guinevere, about magic, what if my father was right and I’m wrong?”

“Do you believe that?” Merlin challenged, holding his friend’s gaze.

Arthur dropped his eyes. “No,” he said. “Guinevere is wise and strong, I trust her more than anyone, I know she will give me good counsel and solid support, and I love her with all my heart. And I have never had a moment’s doubt about my knights.”

Merlin stared at the floor. “Do you believe you were wrong about … about …”

Arthur gaze snapped to his friend’s downcast expression. “About you, no.” He waited for Merlin to look at him. “But I feel as if I have let my father down. He hasn’t been dead a year and I have overturned his most deeply-held convictions. I always tried to please my father.” He cursed himself for betraying his childish longing to please a demanding tyrant.

“No you didn’t. You’ve always done what you believed to be right even if you knew your father would disapprove.” Impatience slipped into the sorcerer’s tone. “Do you not see how different you are from him? Camelot is a better place since you became king.”

“My father clearly doesn’t think so.”

“People respect you for your convictions, including the other monarchs.”

The king was touched by the unwavering support. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Some people still think you’re a foolish, arrogant ass.”

Arthur’s forehead wrinkled. “Who?” At his friend’s shrug he grimaced at having fallen for the jibe. “Very funny.” He squeezed the cup tighter. “My father was taken from me before his time; there is still so much I had to learn from him. And he died saving my life.”

“I understand,” Merlin said quietly.

Remembering how Balinor had died, Arthur’s expression softened. “At least you’re assured your father would be proud of you, that you’re carrying on the family tradition – whatever exactly that is. But mine apparently is angry enough to come back from the dead to stop me.” He had watched his father rule alone, trusting no one, consumed by a hatred of magic that came from fear and bitterness, not strength. For all that he had been a strong king, his iron grip had begun to crack the foundation his kingdom was built on. Despite the love and respect Arthur had for his father, he had decided to rule the kingdom in his own way. Arthur straightened where he sat and set the third cup of wine aside. “How do we get rid of this spirit?”

***

Gaius got another book from the shelf in his workroom and passed it to Merlin to add to the growing pile on their table. Arthur was seated on the stairs beneath the window, his gold hair haloed by the moonlight which faintly illuminated the physician’s quarters. He watched the two of them poring over words that were unintelligible to him, talking gibberish and passing books back and forth while pointing out various passages to each other by the light of a half dozen candles.

At length Gaius tapped a page as he passed the book he held to Merlin. Merlin ran his eyes down the page, flipped it over, and then returned the significant look his mentor had given him. He turned to Arthur. The king had a feeling he was not going to like whatever they were about to tell him.

“We have to go to Uther’s crypt, pour salt on his body, and then burn it,” Merlin explained.

Arthur’s face took on a horrified expression. “He’s the king!”

“ _Was_ the king,” Merlin said.

“That’s treason,” Arthur protested desperately. “Can’t you just …” His gesture indicated the use of magic.

In the face of his friend’s distress, Merlin looked back at Gaius. “I drove it from the Council room,” he said hopefully, although it was impossible for Merlin to stand personal guard simultaneously and constantly on Arthur, Gwen, and the knights.

The elderly physician shook his head sadly. “This is not a living creature, not even a magical creature. It has no body, no substance, although it can manifest physically to move objects. Even Merlin’s power could not do more than temporarily banish it. I’m sorry, Sire.”

“This is my father. Surely he would not actually harm me or anyone I loved.”

“Arthur, you said yourself he wanted to kill you.” Merlin’s tone indicated he was trying to temper the harshness of his words. “It was only luck that Gwen broke her arm and not her neck, or that the axe entered Percival’s shoulder instead of his chest. We cannot simply wait and hope the next attack fails.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “Fine. Do it.”

Gaius and Merlin exchanged a look. Then Merlin spoke again. “It has to be you.”

“What?” Arthur looked from one to the other but it seemed they were as reluctant to put such an onerous task on him as he was to take it on.

“The spirit is drawing strength from you,” Gaius said, not flinching when the king’s angry glare snapped to him. “From your guilt and doubt that you are right to go against the things your father stood for, from your longing to have him here to guide you.”

“And now I have to desecrate his body?”

“If you do not, it will continue to vent its rage on you, on Guinevere, on the others, and no one will be safe,” Gaius said.

Arthur turned to Merlin, hoping the sorcerer would contradict that, would offer to do this alone and never speak of it to him, but Merlin remained in silent agreement with his guardian. The king dropped his head into his hands.

Merlin glanced at his mentor and then back at his anguished friend. “Arthur, Gwen is in danger.”

The king growled in submission before he got resolutely to his feet. “Let’s go then."

“And be careful, the spirit will be stronger near the remains of its earthly body,” Gaius cautioned as the two of them gathered what they would need before making their way to the tomb.

Arthur looked back over his shoulder. “How … stronger?”

“It may have physical form, be able to move larger objects and with more force, it may even have a voice,” Gaius warned.

***

The crypt was a large room but sparsely appointed for all its imposing size. Four candelabra stood sentinel at the four corners of the tomb itself – a stone coffin with a life-size likeness of King Uther elaborately carved on its lid.

Arthur stopped dead at the entrance to the cavernous room, his torch wavering slightly as his hand shook. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He whirled around, bumping into Merlin who was directly behind him. “Gaius said my father might have a voice, maybe I can talk with him – convince him to trust me, that he may have been wrong about magic, to halt his attacks.”

“May have been?”

Acknowledging the soft reproof, Arthur said more forcefully, “That he _was_ wrong about magic.”

Merlin shook his head and gestured at the crypt with the torch he carried in his right hand, an armload of dry wood under his left. “We have to do this.”

Arthur turned back to the crypt, taking several steps forward before he stopped again. “We won’t be able to move the stone lid.”

“I can,” Merlin said.

Arthur heard Merlin speak a few words under his breath, not that Arthur would have understood the strange language even if he could have made out the words of the spell. The heavy stone begin to slide away. At the same moment he felt a cold breeze swirl around the room extinguishing both torches and every candle on all four stands.

“ _Bæl on bryne_ ,” Merlin whispered.

When flames touched the candles and the torches spouted to life, Arthur saw a shadowy outline form between himself and the tomb. A musty, chalky smell drifted from the partially opened crypt along with limestone dust. The shadow took shape, looking increasingly like a man.

“I know it’s you, Father.” Arthur gripped his torch more tightly.

The figure that coalesced exactly resembled Uther, even to the familiar expression of fury Arthur had seen more often than he liked.

“Why are you here?” he challenged the spectre.

“To save you,” the apparition said in Uther’s voice. “And to save this kingdom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many of the decisions you have made since you became king go against all that I taught you. You have ignored our traditions, our ancient laws. And now you come here with a sorcerer by your side to destroy me.” The word _sorcerer_ was spit out as though acid dripped from the very word.

“You tried to kill Guinevere,” Arthur accused.

“For your own good. How can a serving girl understand what it means to be queen?” The spirit flickered slightly even though it appeared to be gaining substance.

“Guinevere has proven herself to be valuable support and a true counsellor and I love her more than I can express.”

“There are some things more important than love! It is your duty to strengthen and protect the kingdom, yet you have failed. Your whole life I tried to prepare you for the day you would become king; did you learn nothing?” Uther’s angry voice grew louder with each rebuke.

Arthur was aware of the tears gathering in his eyes but was powerless to stop them. “I always strove to make you proud.”

“How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything I taught him? Who is destroying my legacy?” The spectre seemed to grow more solid as though feeding on Arthur’s self-doubt. “I did not spend my entire life building this kingdom to see my own son destroy it!”

“I’m not you, Father, I can’t rule the way you did. I have to do what I believe to be right.”

“You have weakened Camelot! The people cannot trust their king when a sorcerer has your ear, the other kings cannot trust you, the kingdom will fall or be torn apart by rebellion and war. There will be no peace within Camelot or without.”

The spirit’s dire predictions echoed in Arthur’s head, reinforcing Bayard’s words as well as Aguisel’s and Tudwal’s warnings.

Merlin stepped forward. “No! You’re wrong.”

The expression of loathing on the spectre deepened.

“Arthur is a better and more worthy king than you ever were and under him all the lands of Albion will be united.”

“I will not allow you and your kind to poison my kingdom.”

The sorcerer’s eyes glowed and the stone lid with the intricately carved likeness was thrown aside as though it weighed no more than a stick, shattering against the wall.

“This is my kingdom,” the spectre stated ominously. “You think you can drive me from it?”

Merlin stood his ground. “You’ve caused enough harm. You must find your place in the Other World.”

The spirit grew even more furious. “It is you who is destroying my kingdom, whispering your poison in my son’s ear, turning him from the path I set for him. They say you were sired by a demon and that is not so far from the truth.”

Merlin’s expression was colder than Arthur had ever seen. “My father did as you asked and you betrayed him – you tried to murder him along with his kin, you hunted him and forced him to live like an animal.”

“It would have been better if I had killed him. Rest assured that if I had known he left offspring I would have ensured your mother died and you with her.”

Arthur flinched at the furious blast of magic from Merlin, but the apparition merely flickered, allowing the bright flash of power to explode against the stone wall in a spray of dust. The expression of pure hatred that came across the spirit turned Arthur’s blood to ice. He felt that hate slam into Merlin like a solid force, throwing him across the chamber where he fell heavily to the flagstones, his head cracking against the floor.

The spectre advanced on Merlin. “It will give me great pleasure killing you.”

“No, Father.” Arthur stood next to the open grave, holding his torch and the bag of salt he had brought.

The spectre stopped its advance on his friend, lying dazed on the flagstones, and turned toward Arthur.

In that moment he saw the hollowness of all his father’s pronouncements about the evil nature of magic and its threat to the peace and stability of the kingdom. It was suddenly clear without any tinge of doubt that Uther’s reign of terror had not only failed to protect Camelot’s people, it had put them in danger more than once. “You’re wrong, about so much.”

Uther’s spectral figure glared at the young king. “I will not allow you to destroy all that I have built. Camelot must come before all else, even you!”

With tears in his eyes Arthur tossed the torch into the crypt where it lit the rotting clothing of the desiccated corpse. The spirit was arrested in mid-motion, halted in whatever vengeance it was about to enact. Arthur sprinkled salt into the flames and bent to collect the dry wood to feed the fire. Uther’s spectre gave a scream of rage as it faded until there was no sound and no substance, only the smoke of the burning corpse.

“You’ve had your turn, Father, now it’s mine,” Arthur whispered.

***

Merlin blinked several times until the bright spots obscuring his vision receded, but the pounding ache in his head did not lessen. He was in his own room and he felt the firmness of his bed beneath him. It was night outside his bedroom window and a candle illuminated two blurry images standing next to his bed which slowly coalesced into a single recognizable figure. It was strange that Arthur was in his room.

“You took a hard knock to your head. Gwaine and Percival brought you home,” Arthur said. “I knew I could trust them to keep quiet about the state of the crypt, although it will be noticed soon enough, but I thought it best no one else know about your involvement in this night’s doings. As it is the workmen who repair the tomb will spread wild tales about vandalism of the king’s resting place and maybe about black magic and sorcery being involved.”

“Oh.” Merlin touched a hand to his aching head. “Good thinking.” Recent memories flooded back. The last thing he remembered clearly was that Uther’s ghost was about to kill him. That he was alive meant Arthur must have burned his father’s body to destroy the malevolent spirit. “Did you …?”

“Yes.”

Despite the calm reply, Merlin knew how horrible that must have been. “I’m sorry you had to do what you did.”

“I had to protect my people.”

He sounded sure of himself, a tinge of regret in his voice but no trace of doubt. Merlin tried to smile but winced at a stab of pain from his aching head.

“Gaius says you’re confined to bed for the day.”

Merlin summoned a disappointed look. “Does that mean I’ll miss the tournament?”

“Try not to be too heartbroken. You’ve seen me win often enough, anyway.” Arthur grinned when Merlin rolled his eyes. “You know you would never get a whole day off if you were still my servant.”

“Arthur, I still am,” Merlin said. “I told you I was proud to be your servant. Til the day I die.”

Embarrassment coloured the king’s face at the heartfelt declaration and he moved to the door.

“Arthur.” Merlin struggled to find the words he wanted to say, knowing what it had cost the king to make such a decisive denunciation of his father’s intolerance of magic. He had put aside any doubts raised by his own counsellors and the opposition of the other monarchs and Merlin wanted to express his appreciation for that, but his head hurt. Finally he decided Arthur would know what he meant anyway so he simply said, “Thank you.”

His friend turned in the doorway. “I always looked up to my father, I admired and respected him more than anyone. But I have to accept that I can’t please him, that I have to be true to myself. He was wrong,” Arthur said. “The kingdom is not weaker because we have accepted magic, it is stronger. And I’ll make certain the other rulers are also clear about Camelot’s implacability on this issue – in time we will all have true peace.” King Arthur gave a confident smile on his way out which Merlin returned before his headache reasserted itself.

 

He must have slept then because when his eyes opened a square of morning light cut across the room from his window. Gwen knocked and peered around the partially open door. When she saw he was awake, she came in to sit in the chair beside his bed. Her arm was wound tightly with cloths and bound by a sling.

“Hi, Gwen. What are you doing up and about?”

She raised her eyebrows. “There is a tournament in my honour I must attend.”

Merlin tried to shake his head but it hurt so he settled for rolling his eyes. “You had an excuse to avoid two whole days sitting in the baking heat, chewing dust, and failing to keep the dirt kicked up by the horses out of your eyes and nose and yet you’re going?”

Gwen smiled. “I must be present to accept the knights’ favours.”

“Are you going to be all right stuck there for hours in the midst of those fine ladies?”

“I will,” Gwen said. “I realized my mistake was trying to be like them. I never will be and I don’t even want to be. I intend to earn their respect by being myself; if they don’t respect that then their opinion is of no concern to me.”

Merlin gave her a wide grin.

“But if I hear one more report of that Vivian being caught trying to sneak her pretty blonde head into Arthur’s quarters on some flimsy excuse.” Gwen’s eyes narrowed dangerously but she did not complete the threat.

“For what it’s worth,” Merlin tried unsuccessfully to keep the grin from his face, “she wouldn’t give him the time of day before Trickler put that spell on her. It was quite funny to see a woman so disinterested in him for a change.”

Gwen did not look as amused as he had been.

He patted her hand reassuringly. “All the while I knew how he felt about you.”

Mollified, Gwen examined him closely. He knew the strained look around his eyes plainly showed that his headache continued to plague him. Concern wrinkled her brow. “Are you going to be well enough to attend the wedding?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

***

Merlin could not keep a foolish grin off his face at the recollection of Arthur and Gwen making an official and public declaration of their love. He paused in the corridor, lost in the memory of the afternoon’s ceremony on his way to the feast which had begun in celebration of that event.

The formal spectacle in the great hall packed with richly dressed courtiers and visiting monarchs in their royal colours, baskets of flowers lining the carpeted aisle, red banners with gold dragons covering every bit of available space, had lacked the simple joy of broomstick rituals he had known in Ealdor, but the symbolic beauty of the handfasting rite had been deeply moving. Seeing Arthur and Gwen pledge their troth to each other, right hands joined, and hearing Gwen’s sincere “with all my heart” had brought tears to his eyes. In that moment it had seemed as if everything in the world was exactly as it should be.

Merlin’s happy memories were interrupted when Trickler stepped into his path.

“Hello.” Merlin wondered what the other sorcerer wanted.

The man’s habitual sneer did not give any hint of his purpose for apparently lying in wait to catch Merlin alone.

“I wanted to thank you,” Trickler said with one of his fawning bows.

Surprised and puzzled, Merlin waited warily.

“Thank you for making this land safe for magic.”

‘“That was Arthur, not me,” Merlin said.

“I hear things, I see things, and I know it was because of you.” The cynical sneer widened. “I am not so foolish as to think opinions can be changed easily, but already things are different, a feeling of freedom which I am certain you understand.”

“Yes,” Merlin said

Trickler dropped his characteristic cynicism. “If there is any favour I can do for you, ask.”

Merlin began to shake his head before an idea struck. “You can remove the love spell from Lady Vivian.”

Trickler regarded the other man closely. Apparently he did not trust any request bereft of a clear motive for personal benefit. Finally he shrugged. “I will.” Trickler gave another mock bow before leaving as stealthily as he had appeared.

Merlin slipped into the banquet hall and quietly took his place beside Gaius. The old man gave him an inquiring glance for his tardiness.

“Trickler wanted a word with me,” Merlin said.

“I hope that doesn’t mean King Alined is hatching any plots to disrupt the peace?” Gaius asked.

“Trickler wanted to thank me for making the kingdom safe for magic.” Merlin threw a  glance at his guardian. “Despite how everyone else feels.”

“I suspect you have more allies than you know.” The elderly physician regarded his ward. “King Gwyl will follow Camelot’s lead in changing the laws of his kingdom and Ector is not the only one on Council who believes in the changes Arthur is making,” Gaius said.

Merlin began to shake his head in denial, but the old man continued. “And you have the support of the knights.”

“Not all of them,” the sorcerer muttered.

“And of the King and Queen.”

At his words a cold breeze made the candelabra above them flicker. Merlin looked up in alarm before he realized the door to the hall had opened and closed. He glanced sheepishly at his guardian who had noticed his start.

“Uther is dead and gone,” Gaius said.

“Morgana is probably still out there,” Merlin said defensively.

Gaius leaned closer to his ward. “I don’t know what it says on your invitation but on mine it says ‘celebration’.”

“You’re right. And I’m happy, really I am.”

“Have you seen Aithusa lately?”

A bright smile creased Merlin’s face. “Yes, and he’s already doubled in size. His wings are strong enough to fly here and back and he coughed up a flame the size of my finger.”

“Balinor would be proud.”

“I wish I had his guidance, Gaius. I don’t know much about being a dragonlord.”

The physician patted his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

They both turned to watch as Gwen accepted the formal congratulations of the other monarchs with complete self-assurance, displaying the same innate grace with which she received the heartfelt good wishes of those who knew her well. Although she would not have the title of Queen Guinevere until her coronation, there were already toasts and shouts of “Long live the Queen”.

The solemn pageantry of the wedding rite was matched by the unbridled gaiety of the feast, spurred on by an abundance of food weighing down the tables and brightly lit by the sparkle of gold thread and jewels on extravagant costumes. The smells of roasted meat and exotic herbs competed with the fragrance of the flowers decorating the tables. Wine flowed freely, and Gwaine bent over to whisper in a pretty red head’s ear, looking pleased with himself at her giggle.

With a smile, Merlin let his doubts about the future slip away as he joined in the toasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally posted this story it ended here, but then I added two more chapters to incorporate Excalibur and Morgana’s fate.  
> And in case I have not said it enough – I do appreciate the comments and kudos. Thank you!


	12. A New Threat

Arthur arrived in the Council room with Leon and Merlin at his heels to find that Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Gaheris, Bedwyr, Caradoc, Ranulf, and Ector had already assembled despite it being not yet dawn. The king seated himself at the head of the table, then the others each claimed a place, Merlin at Arthur’s right. Gaheris scowled at the sorcerer’s presence but said nothing as he took his seat. Leon alone remained standing.

“What do we know?” Arthur asked.

“Word came from King Olaf first that a Saxon army had crossed the border into Dyfed. Within the hour, similar news came from King Alined that Gwynedd is threatened as well. Both have requested aid under the terms of the treaty the Five Kingdoms struck to defend our sovereign lands.”

The knights exchanged solemn looks.

“Any word from the east?” Ector asked.

“Nothing from our spies at Lot’s court. Perhaps the East Saxons are not as impatient for more land as their brothers in the south.”

Arthur nodded. They would have to be wary of an assault through Essetir, but the immediate threat appeared to be the southern lands of the Five Kingdoms. “Have we received word yet from Rodor or Gwyl regarding their preparations to send aid?”

“No, Sire, but it’s likely the news has only just reached them as it has us.”

Maps were spread across the Council table in front of the king, and Leon and the others leaned forward as Arthur ran a finger down the most detailed drawing.

“Gwyl’s troops will take a day to reach Camelot from Daobeth before they continue south to meet the Saxons. Send a message to King Gwyl and tell him to send mounted troops only so they arrive at Calleva the same time we do. Ensure Lord Godwyn is aware of the situation and request that he allow Rodor to bring Nemeth’s troops through Gawant, that will shorten their journey.” Arthur did not consider the strangeness of a newly crowned king sending battle instructions to monarchs older and more experienced that he was. “Assemble and provision our own troops to march south in the morning. At a quick pace, we can reach Calleva in a day. Olaf and Alined can hold until then and keep us informed of the Saxons’ movements. Once we know where the bulk of their forces are amassing against us, they will face the united armies of the Five Kingdoms.”

“Yes, Sire,” Leon said.

“And arrange for the Council to assemble in two hours. That should be enough time for Aguisel to be awakened and dressed.”

***

Arthur had not left the Council chamber since early morning. Communications had come and gone, and he had alternately pored over maps with Leon and sent him to check on the state of preparations. When the Council began assembling, the king took a long drink from the filled goblet in front of him.

Aguisel arrived, minus his usual cloak, his hair damp and a heavy-lidded frown on his face, Tudwal at his side. Gaius hurried in, stopped on the threshold to exchange a look with Merlin who stood quietly near Arthur’s chair, then took his seat at the Council table. Geoffrey’s loud complaints could be heard before he entered, grumbling that it was barely first light and what could be so important.

Guinevere followed them, dressed in a blue silk gown stitched with silver, a royal circlet atop her brown curls. For an instant, all thought of the coming battle was wiped from Arthur’s mind as he stared at his queen, the cup in his right hand forgotten halfway to his mouth.

She came forward to seat herself on Arthur’s left, laying one hand on his where it gripped the arm of his chair. He could see the worry buried in her brown eyes despite her outward calm. He set down the goblet.

Arthur spoke as soon as the Council was seated. “We received word that the Saxons crossed into lands belonging to the Five Kingdoms, both in Gwynedd and Dyfed. We march south to meet them.”

No one was surprised by the news, but Gaius glanced worriedly at Merlin before returning his gaze to Arthur.

“Does the sorcerer ride with you?” Aguisel watched Merlin narrowly.

For a moment Arthur was taken aback. “Of course,” he answered without thought. A hard knot of doubt landed in his gut; Merlin was not his servant any longer to accompany him to this battle.

Merlin glared at the noble.

Arthur concentrated on the reason he had assembled the Council. “In my absence, Guinevere will act as Regent.”

Aguisel’s disapproving stare fixed on the queen.

Gwen started but she recovered quickly.

Arthur felt her fingers tighten on his. “The Queen has my absolute confidence and trust.”

Although his jaw was clenched, Aguisel made no protest and Tudwal said nothing when the other noble remained silent.

“I thank you gentlemen for your time, but I must return to my preparations for our journey.”

Aguisel and Tudwal were the first to leave. Gaius hesitated, looking at Merlin, but the young man gave him a reassuring smile. Geoffrey laid a hand on the physician’s arm and accompanied his old friend from the chamber.

After most of the other Council members had left, Gwen turned wide eyes on Arthur. “How can I … I can’t …”

Before the king could answer, Leon said, “My lady, we have every faith in you.”

Gwen’s gaze jumped to the knight.

Arthur laid his other hand on top of hers where she still squeezed his fingers. “Guinevere, you are perfectly capable of acting as Regent.”

“You’ll be fine, Gwen.” Merlin smiled at her.

Gwen looked from one to another of them, then straightened where she sat and Arthur felt her ease the pressure of her grip.

The king turned to Merlin. “I spoke without thought.”

The sorcerer gave him a puzzled look.

“I never asked if you intended to accompany me to this battle.”

Surprise replaced the puzzlement.

“You have no reason to come, I will find another attendant to assist me.”

“You don’t want me to journey with you?”

Merlin sounded hurt but Arthur was not certain. “I would not stop you, of course, if you had any reason to come with us.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Gwen said. “Arthur, Merlin wants to go with you; Merlin, Arthur wants you to go with him.”

Merlin smiled. “Well, then of course I’ll go.”

***

Gwaine nudged his horse up beside Merlin’s as they passed through a stretch of open, grassy plain. Tall yellow stalks brushed their horses’ bellies while their tails flicked frantically to ward off flies and mosquitoes.

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin.”

“As am I.” Elyan had come up on the sorcerer’s other side.

“Leon told us how you didn’t want to come but Arthur begged you to accompany us.”

Merlin met Gwaine’s grin with a raised eyebrow. Leon glanced back at them but merely shook his head at Gwaine.

“What can you –” Elyan made a gesture with his hands as if he was conjuring a spell, “– do to help in a battle?”

“You barely know which is the pointy end of a sword,” Gwaine said.

Merlin frowned at him. “I can hold up my end of a fight.”

“How?” Elyan asked curiously.

“Yes, what do you do exactly?”

Merlin thought back. “I can make a weapon red hot so the enemy is forced to let go of the hilt, or I can hurl a blade with a look so that it never misses.” The knights gazed at him raptly and Percival rode up beside them to listen. “Once I enchanted an enemy’s sword so that it attracted every loose piece of metal around and he overbalanced trying to hold onto a weapon so heavy.” Elyan and Percival exchanged a wide-eyed stare. “Or I could just throw a man through the air with a blink.”

Leon turned and stared.

Merlin shrugged. “If I need to hold back a group I could conjure a wall of fire.”

“How did we not notice any of that?” Gwaine wondered aloud.

“ _You_ never noticed,” Percival said.

Merlin grinned at the big knight. “You never said anything.”

“I thought you’d tell us when you were ready.”

“Or, you know,” Gwaine said, “call a dragon to help you steal an egg.”

The sorcerer flushed. “You weren’t supposed to get there so quickly. If I had had time to conceal the egg you’d be none the wiser now.”

“None of that helped you when that mercenary cut you down with a mace,” Elyan said.

“Only because I wasn’t watching my back.”

Leon turned again to look at them. “No, you were watching Arthur’s back instead.”

“That’s my job,” Merlin replied.

Leon raised a brow. “I thought that was our job.”

“How close do you have to be to do what you do?” Gwaine asked.

“I have to be within sight to work most of those spells, even if I’m not looking directly at the target when I cast them,” Merlin said. “Why?”

“Then we’ll do our job beside Arthur in the battle, you do your job from a good vantage point,” Elyan said.

Gwaine nodded. “That way we don’t have to watch your back, too.”

Merlin gave him a disgusted look. “I told you I can take care of myself.”

“We’ll be facing an army of Saxons this time,” Elyan said, “a larger force than Morgana ever assembled, and they’re not mercenaries simply fighting for a reward. The Saxons believe they have a right to this land.”

“It won’t matter,” Merlin said. “They’ll be facing Arthur.”

***

Merlin stood with his back to an apple tree, halfway up the slope from the field where the Saxon troops had amassed. Above and behind him was the abandoned ruin of what had once been a fortress on a hill; what was left of the tower sheltered the tent where the monarchs of the Five Kingdoms had held their Council. The armies were now assembled on the field below. From the hillside, Merlin would not lose sight of Arthur even in the fiercest fighting.

Arthur stood at the edge of the field, his knights ranged behind him, the golden dragon standard lifted above his head by a strong morning breeze. Furthest to Arthur’s right, King Olaf had moved into position at the head of his men, his son at his side. Between the Camelot knights and Olaf’s men, the Nemeth soldiers were assembled. King Rodor’s son was only a boy, so despite the grey-haired king’s advanced age he led his forces into position himself. To Arthur’s left, King Alined waited, and Merlin noticed that Trickler was behind his king. Furthest left were the Daobeth soldiers. King Gwyl, despite his size, was neither fast enough nor strong enough any longer to lead his warriors but three of his sons, all nearly as large as Percival, rode at the head of their troops.

The Saxons had begun to advance. There were so many that no grass could be seen under their feet through the vast moving expanse of axes, spears, and horse-hair that marched steadily north covering more and more of the field.

Arthur’s sword rested lightly on his right shoulder. When the Saxons abandoned their slow march and began to close the gap between the armies at a run, increasing the noise of their shouts, Arthur lifted his sword into the air and shouted his own battle cry before bringing his sword down and rushing to meet the enemy. Merlin could not hear his words, but he felt the rush of adrenaline and nearly raced forward himself.

At Arthur’s signal, the combined forces of the Five Kingdoms moved forward as one. The hammering of booted feet on hard ground added to the yells before metallic clashes and screams of pain swelled over the other sounds. Merlin was thankful the breeze took the smell of blood and gore away from where he stood as he marked the progress of Camelot’s king through the densely packed throng. Merlin could see the golden dragon standard surrounded by red-garbed knights, Arthur’s sword occasionally sending a flash of sunlight to mark its passing as it swung and spun. The red triangle cut further into the Saxon ranks like the point of a spear driving forward.

A swell of noise came from the right of the field and Nemeth’s standard wavered. Rodor had been injured and was being hurriedly escorted back from the most intense fighting. Nemeth’s soldiers held their position briefly, then began falling back as the Saxons pressed ahead, threatening to break through the line between Olaf and Arthur thereby cutting off Dyfed from the bulk of the Five Kingdoms’ forces.

Without hesitation, Arthur turned from his forward advance and pressed to the right, encircling the Saxons who had penetrated most deeply into Nemeth’s ranks. The Nemeth soldiers rallied at seeing their adversaries surrounded. Facing a resurgence from the Nemeth fighters, with Dyfed’s warriors to one side and Camelot’s knights to the other and behind them, the Saxons were quickly cut down, but Arthur temporarily had his back to the Saxon army.

Recognizing their advantage, a group of the fiercest Saxon fighters converged on the spot where Arthur now fought. Spurred by the loss of their fellow soldiers and the opportunity presented by Arthur’s back, several of the blond giants rushed forward.

Merlin’s hands whipped up, his eyes flashing gold. Six of the huge Saxons were thrown backward to land heavily on their fellows behind them.

At the sound of bodies crashing into bodies, Arthur spun to see six fallen enemy soldiers and the stunned faces of those who had staggered back under the weight of their fellows. The largest Saxon shrugged aside the body of a fellow soldier and raised his axe, but before he could draw breath to shout a battle cry, he and four of his nearest warriors were tossed aside to fall without moving again.

Arthur glanced up at the apple tree on the sloping hillside, then raised his sword high, twirled it once, and with a rallying cry drove straight into the line of Saxons. Those who had been close enough to see their fellows cut down by an invisible hand tried to press backward but were blocked by their own troops as Arthur charged forward followed by a shouting crowd of warriors from Nemeth, Dyfed, and Camelot.

The onslaught, with Arthur as its leading point, drove into the Saxon forces. One of their leaders attempted to cut Arthur off as he had done to their soldiers, but the Saxon leader found himself facing an impenetrable wall of flame.

The combined forces of the Five Kingdoms surged forward in Arthur’s wake.

***

Merlin assisted the healers working with the wounded, ignoring the awed stares sent his way and the whispers as he passed. Arthur had visited the dressing station earlier to hearten the recovering soldiers and comfort the dying before he joined the other kings in the command tent. Gwaine bore his usual selection of gashes but they had been treated and none appeared serious, Leon had taken an axe blow to the leg which Merlin had bandaged, and Percival had insisted he suffered no wounds that needed treatment. Once Gwaine’s injuries were tended, he and Percival left to assist in stripping the dead of identification to be returned to their families as well as ensuring that those left alive were brought to the healers.

At length, Merlin made his way in the dark from the dressing station toward the tent set up in the shelter of a few erect walls of the ruined fortress, stepping around blackberry and nettle which had taken up residence among the fallen stones. A few apples on one of the trees had turned mostly red and Merlin’s stomach reminded him he had not eaten in many hours. He paused long enough to pick the ripest fruit, looking out across the field which had been cleared of the fallen. Far to the south, the flames of the Saxon pyres could be seen.

The flap of the tent which housed the royalty of the Five Kingdoms was open to let out the torch smoke and let in a cooling breeze, allowing Merlin to slip in unremarked by the gathered royalty. The sentries made no attempt to bar his way.

Olaf and his son had suffered minor wounds; Alined was unhurt but Merlin had seen Trickler in the field dressing station with a heavily bandaged arm; Gwyl was flanked by two of his sons, the third was sorely wounded and not expected to recover; and Rodor’s injuries had been tended but the elderly king would be a long time healing. Arthur himself was virtually unmarked despite having been in the heart of the fiercest fighting.

“Will they regroup and attack again?” Alined asked.

Olaf shook his head. “They will not be back before winter sets in, those few that made it from the field, thanks to Arthur. Uther Pendragon at the height of his strength could hardly have routed them so thoroughly.”

“Yes, we are secure now until spring. We can return to our homes.” Rodor hunched where he sat, his face ashen, thick bandages bulging under his tunic and cape. “I said we would need a strong leader, and here we have one.” His eyes held Arthur’s. “One who can hold the kingdoms together and drive back the Saxons. I was wrong to doubt you, Arthur; your youth does not hamper, it lends strength.”

“He has more than strength and skill near to hand; that was powerful magic keeping him safe on the field,” Gwyl said.

Merlin froze where he stood near the open flap but several pairs of eyes fixed on him.

“Yes, well.” Rodor winced as he shifted to face away from tent flap. “In any case it seems there is no need to for us to remain here. We will make our way to Calleva tomorrow, and thence to Nemeth.”

“Arthur,” Gwyl said, “we would be pleased to accompany you as far as Camelot before we continue north.”

“I would be glad of your company,” he replied.

***

“That was an impressive victory you gave us, Arthur,” Gwyl said. His beefy arms held the reins of his mount with a firm grip despite his age.

His two sons flanked him, their thick red hair and beards a younger copy of their father’s bushy white face. The third son’s body was being transported by the soldiers following them.

“Thank you,” Arthur said.

Gwyl gave him a searching look. “Do you believe we have routed the Saxons completely?”

“No,” Arthur said. “Come spring they will band with their eastern brothers or even use the dark days of winter to recruit additional warriors from their homeland.”

“I agree. The Saxon leader will make another move once winter has passed, but it will not be from the south. They will come from the east where they are more numerous.”

“Where there are also several harbours should longboats come from Saxony to swell their ranks.”

The elderly king turned in his saddle to face Arthur. “When that time comes, we need to be united; we cannot continue as a collection of separate but equal kingdoms with no leader, no strong central power to look to.”

Arthur’s eyes fastened on the white-haired king. “Are you asking for my support in a bid to lead us as High King?”

The corners of Gwyl’s mouth turned up under the thick beard. “No, I am too old and my sons, however strong,” he glanced backward, “do not have the experience.”

“Lot would be pleased to assume such a role,” Arthur said.

“Yes, he is a strong and experienced ruler,” Gwyl said. “He would be my second choice even though Essetir is not one of the Five Kingdoms.”

“Who is your first choice?” Arthur could not resist asking.

“You.”

***

“Sefa was looking for you again,” Gwen said with a wink as she entered the nearly empty Council chamber.

Merlin looked up from the pile of paperwork on the table in front of him. “The pretty maidservant whose hair always comes loose from her braid? Brown hair but it looks red in the sunlight?”

Gwen was wearing her purple gown with the wide sleeves and purple lace. He wondered if she felt as uncomfortable as he did in fancy clothing, or if it was her speculative stare that made his shoulders twitch.

“Pretty?”

Merlin felt warmth crawl up his neck. “She seems quite a capable servant.”

“Enough that I am thinking of making her my personal maid.”

Arthur looked over from where he sat with one knee propped against the table, his chair balanced on two legs. Merlin noticed that his quill had not even been dipped in ink yet.

“She would be pleased, I’m sure. It is an honour to serve royalty.” Arthur grinned at Merlin. “As George reminds me daily.”

Merlin ignored him. “Do you know what Sefa wanted with me?”

“Maybe you should talk to her and find out for yourself,” Gwen said.

“Give it up, Guinevere, Merlin has no time for girls.”

Merlin ground his teeth at Arthur’s smirk. “Mostly because I’m too busy running around after you. If I’m not polishing your armour and washing your clothes then I’m doing your paperwork and writing your speeches, and that’s in between saving your arrogant, pompous backside.”

“Not to mention sneaking around hatching dragons and whatever else it is you do.”

“Like destroy an army of soldiers who can’t be killed because they’re already dead?”

“ _You_ destroyed the immortal army?” Arthur’s chair dropped to the ground and he leaned forward. He frowned. “What about that army of skeletons, was it really Morgana who defeated them?”

“No. She conjured them.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Merlin gave him an arch look. “Who would have believed me?”

Arthur opened his mouth but no words came.

Gwen watched Merlin keenly. “What else was Morgana responsible for that you haven’t told us?” Gwen asked. “Why did Morgause kidnap her? Were they already working together?”

Arthur looked at Merlin in dawning comprehension.

Merlin bit his lip as he looked from one to the other. Finally he sighed and stared at the floor of the chamber. “Yes, Morgana had already agreed to help Morgause before she attacked with the Knights of Medhir.”

“She betrayed us even then?” There was a catch in Gwen’s voice. “She would have let Morgause and the Knights slaughter us while we slept? Helped them do it?”

 “Why would Morgana do that?” Arthur asked hoarsely.

“She had magic. She was alone and afraid,” Merlin said. “I didn’t help her so she turned to Alvarr, then Morgause, anyone who promised to overthrow Uther.”

“Was she really that afraid of him?” Arthur’s lips thinned. “So when Morgause’s attack failed Morgana went with her willingly?”

“Not exactly. Morgana was nearly dead; she had no choice.”

He could feel their eyes on him even though he did not lift his gaze from the floor.

“Why did the sleeping spell fail? What stopped the Knights?” Gwen asked softly.

“The spell was broken when Morgana stopped breathing.” When she went limp in his arms. “Morgause released her hold on the Knights in exchange for what she needed to save Morgana’s life.”

“Save her from what?” Arthur demanded. “What did Morgause need?”

“The name of the poison I used.” Merlin lifted his eyes then and met Arthur’s shocked gaze. He did not dare look at Gwen.

“You tried to kill her, even though you …” Arthur did not finish the sentence. “Yet it is me she hates,” he said grimly.

“It’s not you, Arthur,” Merlin said. “She has never forgiven Uther.”

“And because of that she’s out there plotting her next assault on my kingdom when we have the Saxons nipping at our heels.”

“We don’t know where she is or what she intends, if she is even alive,” Merlin said.

“She has been destitute since Morgause’s death,” Gwen said. “And she will not find allies among any of the kingdoms of Albion, not now.”

“Nor will she have followers left among those with magic,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked from one to the other. “I hope you’re right. I hope she is done with her endless plots to kill me and take the throne she thinks Uther denied her because he would not acknowledge her.”

Merlin hoped the same, and more, that one day she might make peace with her brother, with Gwen, maybe even with him despite all they had done to each other.

***

Merlin had been surprised when Sefa asked to meet him at dark by the south gate, and even more surprised when she led him out of the city into the surrounding woods. She wore a warm cloak against the evening chill, the hood covering her face. He tugged his jacket tighter, glad he had worn his own comfortable coat rather than one of the fancy cloaks now stuffed in his cupboard.

Sefa needed no light besides the moon, so Merlin knew she had followed this path many times. He glanced down at the man-made pile of stones as she swept by without looking at the marker.

They approached an old temple with no roof and only a few walls still standing, with two lighted torches placed in sconces attached to what was left of the centre wall in the abandoned ruin. A crow barked a warning at them from its perch on one of the broken pillars as they passed. A man knelt before what must have once been the altar, his arms spread wide, chanting. Sefa removed her hood and waited respectfully for him to finish his worship.

The man paused as though he sensed he was no longer alone. Then he finished his prayer and stood to approach them. When he saw Merlin, he went down on one knee. “Emrys, it is an honour to meet you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Please, there’s no need.” He gestured for the man to get up. “How do you know my name?”

“My lady Morgana told me I would find you at Arthur’s side.”

Wary, Merlin looked from the man to Sefa and back. “You know where Morgana is?”

“I spoke with her three days ago,” the man said.

“Sefa is your spy?”

She started. “I only –”

“Yes,” he answered. “I am Ruadan and my daughter was meant to aid me in our victory over the enemies of the Old Religion, my loyal assistant in my sacred duty to fight.”

“The Druids are a peaceful people,” Merlin said, eyeing the sword and knives the man carried despite the Druid tattoo on the right side of his neck.

“Even we can be pushed beyond endurance,” Ruadan said. “Uther Pendragon declared himself an enemy of my people and his son would surely have followed in his footsteps. I believed the Pendragons would hunt and kill until not one of us was left, then I heard the new king had changed the laws, and that when he fought it was with sorcery at his side. The prophecies told of Emrys and the Once and Future King, and the prophecies do not lie, but I did not believe a Pendragon could be the king that was foretold.”

The man paused and Merlin saw uncertainty in a face he knew was unused to such an emotion.

“Patience is the stepping stone to wisdom, but I was impatient, I was tired of the fear and the death. I wanted to bring a return to the Old Ways and I wanted it in my time.”

“Arthur is not the same as his father,” Merlin said.

Ruadan regarded him solemnly for several heartbeats. “Then there is nothing further for me to undertake. I will leave and not return here.”

“Should I go with you, Father?” Sefa asked. “What should I do?”

He looked down at her as he took her hands in his. “You have been a dutiful daughter, but there is no place for you where I am going. You must do whatever is best for you.”

When he dropped her hands and turned to go, she grasped his arm. He gently eased away from her grip. She turned to Merlin, her brown eyes frightened.

“Gwen thinks highly of you, you’ll have a place here if you want it.”

“Will you,” her eyes darted to her father as he turned to leave, “will you tell them about this?”

He took one of her hands and squeezed. “As long as you don’t betray Camelot or do anything to endanger my friends, I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” She smiled tremulously.

He squeezed her hand again. “Wait,” Merlin called to her departing father.

Ruadan looked back.

“Where is Morgana?”

“She is with a group of Druids in the Forest of Ascetir.”

***

Gaius knocked over a container on his workbench, spilling most of the precious potion. In frustration, he gave up any attempt to keep himself busy and sat on his bench, staring at the chamber door. Merlin had been gone several hours, twice as long as he had been gone the previous day when he had located the settlement. After his return from the Druids yesterday, he had been more evasive than usual, saying only that Morgana was in the camp and Iseldir said she had been living there peacefully since the battle for Camelot one year ago.

Unable to sit, Gaius got to his feet and paced across his chamber and back. He gave the supper he had prepared a half-hearted stir but the food was cold and gelatinous. He was not even certain what made him so uneasy; he knew Morgana was not Merlin’s equal in power, that he had defeated her repeatedly, yet something in the young man’s face worried Gaius.

Tired of pacing, the physician sat down on the bench again and stared at the door. He had begun to doze, the candles guttering, when the door quietly eased open. Gaius started awake.

Merlin stopped at his guardian’s pointed look. He put on a bright smile. “Oh, hi, Gaius. You shouldn’t have waited up. Is there supper?” He spied the cold pot sitting on the table. “Good, I’m starving.”

Gaius watched him shed his jacket and dish up a bowl of half-congealed stew without meeting his guardian’s eyes. He had not lied about being hungry because he wolfed down the entire bowl and dished up more. When he finished, he set the bowl aside and made to go straight to his room.

“Well, good night.”

“Merlin.”

The young man stopped with one foot on the stairs to his chamber but did not turn.

“Did you speak with Morgana again?”

“Yes.”

Gaius could see the back of his neck turn bright red.

“Does Arthur know where you were?”

“No.”

“When do you intend to tell him you have found her?”

Merlin turned to face him. “Iseldir assured me she has not had any visitors other than Ruadan, and the Druids are hardly likely to be her army.”

Gaius clasped his hands in his lap.

“She’s not causing any harm, maybe it’s best to leave her there,” Merlin said. “The Druids can watch out for her.”

“Don’t you mean watch her?”

The red crept into his face again. “Yes, they can watch her and warn us if she’s planning anything. And I’ll check on her again tomorrow.” The flush grew darker.

Gaius frowned. “You are not going back there without informing Arthur.”

“Why? He can’t protect me from Morgana.”

“Maybe he can.” The old man leaned forward in his chair, one hand lifted slightly. “She’s drawing you in, Merlin.”

The sorcerer hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t what was in her eyes.”

“She is a High Priestess and an accomplished liar; Morgana can feign any look she wishes.”

“I was there, not you.” Merlin came closer to crouch beside the old man and lay one hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about me. I promise all is well.”

Gaius watched as Merlin disappeared up the stairs into his room.

***

After his ward had devoured breakfast without saying more than a few words and hurried away, Gaius gathered up his supplies and began his rounds in the citadel.. His chance to speak to the king alone came in the late morning.

“Sire, could I speak with you.”

Arthur stopped in the corridor and glanced back over his shoulder. “Of course. I was on my way to the throne room, you can accompany me.”

“No.”

The king had begun to stride in that direction but stopped and looked back again.

“There is an empty chamber here, Sire, where we can talk in private.”

Gaius led the way into the small room and after a moment’s hesitation Arthur joined him.

“Gaius?”

“Has Merlin told you he found Morgana?”

The look of amazement was answer enough. “She’s alive? Where? How? What forces does she have with her?”

“All I know is that the Druids are sheltering her.”

Arthur’s brow creased. “I thought they were happy with the peace.”

“As far as I know they are, and they are not planning to aid her in any way, if she is planning anything.”

“She’s always planning something. Where is their settlement?”

Gaius folded his hands in front of him. “I do not know.”

“Is Merlin going to face her alone?”

“He has seen her twice now.”

“Without telling me?” The king narrowed his gaze at his physician. “Why are you informing me of this in secret?”

“I’m concerned about him.”

Arthur’s eyebrows went up. “You’re the one who told me he was the greatest sorcerer ever, that he could face her and win, and he did.”

“In a battle of power, yes, but he is only human. I fear Morgana may have certain … weapons ... he may not know how to fight.”

“What on earth are you … oh.” Arthur frowned. “He got over that years ago.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Is he planning on seeing her again today?”

“I believe so.”

“Will it stop him if we warn him not to?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll make sure he has an escort.”

***

Arthur had a private meeting with Guinevere, Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan. Then he spent the afternoon waiting for Merlin to speak with him, even arranging to be alone with the sorcerer, but although his friend had once or twice looked like he was about to say something, he had not brought up the subject of Morgana.

Now he was packing away his writing things and gathering up parchments in the chamber he used for working. It was Agravaine’s old apartment, and Merlin had agreed to use it for his daily work even though he returned to the physician’s chamber to eat and sleep.

“Finished already?” Arthur asked as he entered.

Merlin jumped and dropped one of his papers. “Yes,” he said as he picked up the scroll again.

“Good. Because Guinevere has invited you to have supper with us.”

“Oh.” Merlin paused. “Gaius is expecting me.”

“Really? Because I spoke with him and he said you were supping somewhere else tonight.”

“That’s right,” Merlin said with a smile. “I already have plans. Give Gwen my regrets.”

He moved toward the door but Arthur stepped into his path. “What plans? So I can explain to Guinevere.”

Merlin puffed out a breath and set everything he was carrying onto the table. “Gaius told you.”

“What would he have to tell me?”

His friend slanted him a look. “Morgana is alive.”

“He did tell me that, yes. But for some reason you didn’t.”

“She’s safe and well.”

“She’s a traitor and a murderer; I am not terribly concerned with her safety.”

“I’m keeping an eye on her.”

Arthur nodded. “Good. Leon will accompany you to help.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Leon hates Morgana.”

“True. Elyan will accompany you as well, then.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Merlin, you never take care of yourself.” Arthur crossed his arms. “You are always looking out for everyone else, now we’re going to look out for you.”

“It’s better if I go alone.”

“Why?” the king asked. When no answer was forthcoming, Arthur called out, “Leon, Elyan.”

Merlin frowned when both knights appeared instantly.

“Keep Merlin company this evening and if he goes anywhere, go with him.”

***

Merlin glanced sideways when Gwaine fell into step beside him in the hallway. The knight gave him a wide grin which Merlin returned with a grimace. In the last four days Gaius, Arthur, Guinevere, and the knights had made certain he was never alone until he went to bed at night.

Between Gaius and Arthur he was not given a moment of respite from his daily tasks and Merlin was convinced they were inventing things to keep him busy. Usually he would have at least an hour or two to himself between tasks; in the past week he had not had even a moment. Then, when the time for supper neared, Guinevere and the knights took over to make sure he did not eat alone and had no opportunity to leave the citadel unaccompanied. The sorcerer considered using magic to escape but he wondered if even that would keep every last one of them from following him.

He wondered why he was going to such lengths to keep Morgana’s location a secret. If anyone had a right to know, it was Arthur. He was responsible for the kingdom and Morgana was a threat to their peace.

“Where are you going, mate?” Gwaine asked.

“For a walk.” Merlin headed outside to the courtyard.

“To do what?”

“Think. It involves using your brain.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Yes.” Merlin walked faster.

Morgana did not deserve another chance. He had already decided he was not going to give her any more chances. But Merlin could not rid himself of the memory of her begging to be left in Aglain’s camp and her heartfelt “I’ll never forget this” for his attempt to help her flee from Arthur’s rescue. It would have been better for all of them if she had stayed there, and it would be better if they left her with Iseldir now.

He was lying to himself, he knew. His reasons for going alone to meet her were less than honourable and Arthur was right to warn him against it and to insist on knowing where she was.

Merlin looked back at Gwaine and gave him a small smile. On the other hand, there might be a way to distract the knight long enough for Merlin to leave the city without anyone knowing where he had gone.

***

Gwaine followed Merlin at a discreet distance through the gate into the lower town. The market was closing, the smell of food cooking wafted from dwellings, and the taverns were filling up. Gwaine glanced regretfully at the door of the Rising Sun as he went by.

When Merlin turned into a narrower street off the market and then a narrower street again, Gwaine laid one hand on the hilt of his knife. This was not an area of town he would have expected Merlin to frequent, yet the sorcerer seemed to know exactly where he was going. He passed the doorway to another tavern, one upstanding, law-abiding citizens, and Gwaine, generally avoided.

Then the knight stopped short. Merlin had paused in front of a two-story building the size of an inn but with no sign to mark its name. He was talking with a brown-haired girl, then he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She giggled, looked toward Gwaine and gave him a little wave, then took Merlin’s hand and led him inside the building. As Merlin disappeared inside he, too, waved at Gwaine.

Two of the other women standing outside looked interestedly at the knight. A blonde whose name he couldn’t remember gave him an inquiring glance but he shook his head before turning to go back the way he came.

 

Gwaine had just finished giving Arthur his report when Gaius walked in to the chamber in search of the king. His white eyebrow went up at the sight of Gwaine.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching Merlin?”

“It’s all right, Gaius,” Arthur said. “We know where Merlin is.”

The other eyebrow went up. “And you left him there alone?”

“I didn’t think he needed help,” Gwaine said, grinning.

Arthur snorted with laughter which he pretended was a cough.

Gaius looked from one to the other.

The king shifted uncomfortably under the stern look. “Gaius, I promise, Merlin is perfectly fine.”

“More than fine, I bet,” Gwaine said with a wink.

Both white eyebrows came down and met together.

“Gaius, Gwaine saw Merlin meet with a … woman in the lower town.”

“Plain-looking girl with long brown hair?” Gaius asked. “Druid tattoo on her forearm?”

“I wasn’t looking at her arm,” Gwaine said.

Arthur frowned at Gaius. “You know her?”

“Gwinna, a friend of Merlin’s.”

Gwaine grinned. “More than a friend, I think.”

The king and Gaius both glared at him.

“A friend who would help him if he wanted to leave the city alone?” Arthur asked.

Gwaine’s grin faded.

Gaius nodded.

***

Arthur was waiting with Gaius, Guinevere, Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine in the physician’s chamber when Merlin returned to the citadel after dark. He squared his shoulders and faced them from the doorway.

“How is your friend, Gwinna?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin gave him a smile. “Fine. Elaine and Lynette send you their greetings.”

“How is Morgana?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked him in the eye, all trace of a smile wiped away. “She’s living peacefully with the Druids.”

“She is a traitor and an enemy of Camelot and I shouldn’t have to warn you how dangerous she is.”

“I know better than anyone all Morgana has done,” Merlin said. “I can look after myself, all I ask is that you trust me to do it.”

Arthur blinked. Merlin knew better than anyone. When the two of them had hidden on the balcony overlooking the Great Hall with a perfect view of Arthur’s strong, proud father forced to his knees in front of Morgause as she stole his crown from his head, when Morgana had boldly stood beside her sister and announced her true parentage, Arthur’s mind had gone blank. Morgana’s betrayal and the truth of her paternity had shook his belief in his father and in the entire world. Her hatred and betrayal had stunned him, yet Merlin had merely watched grimly as Morgana sat in the throne and accepted Uther’s crown. Merlin had not been surprised. He had known where her loyalties lay, had been fighting against her for a long time. He had known even back when the Knights of Medhir attacked that Morgana had turned from them.

“How did you know she was the source of the sleeping spell?” Arthur asked.

“I was told.”

“By who?”

“The Great Dragon,” Merlin said. “It was the dragon who said I should kill her but Kilgharrah … his store of knowledge is immense but I’m not sure he’s always right about what I should do.” Merlin cocked his head and grinned. “He’s more unhappy than any of you that Morgana and I … reached a truce.”

Arthur grimaced and kept his mind on learning how much more Merlin knew about Morgana than anyone else had known or guessed. “How did you know Morgana intended to assist Cenred in his assault?”

Merlin sighed. “I knew for certain when I followed her and she met Morgause in the Darkling Woods but they caught me before I could warn you and then how could I explain my escape?”

Arthur stared at him. “Did it involve a dragon?”

“Yes.”

The assault had failed, and unbelievably it had been Merlin who was responsible, not Morgana as she had claimed. He must have fought against her in secret all those months until she revealed her true loyalties. Arthur had not faced her until he found the woman he had loved as a sister in the throne room once more, his traitorous uncle at her side. By then he was aware of her driving desire to take Uther’s crown, though he did not truly understand her conflicted feelings in regard to their father. Maybe only others with magic who lived under threat of death for every breath they drew, endangering those around them by their existence, could understand. His heart ached when he thought about the pain Uther had unwittingly but uncaringly caused his daughter and so many others. How could Morgana believe Arthur capable of that same merciless disregard toward people? Especially toward her, who had been a treasured friend.

But he had seen what evils she was capable of, even as he had also seen regret in her face for the loss of their friendship. He had tried to talk to her and she had tried to kill him and, again, Merlin had protected him.

He met Merlin’s eyes. “Do you trust her?”

“I believe she is not a threat right now.”

Arthur broke away from Merlin’s intense gaze to look around at the others. Gwen had a worried frown that mirrored Gaius’s but neither spoke out. The three knights exchanged a look, then Gwaine spoke for all of them.

“We trust you, mate.”

Merlin gave them a grateful look and returned his gaze to Arthur.

“You know her better than anyone. I trust you,” the king said.


	13. The Sword in the Stone

Despite their sincere expressions of faith in him, in the weeks that followed Merlin received worried frowns and lectures on Morgana’s untrustworthiness from Gaius, Gwen, Leon, and even Elyan. Kilgharrah made his displeasure clear every time they spoke. While Arthur had not again voiced his concerns, Merlin caught appraising looks from the king which were followed by sudden changes in topic. Aithusa was the only one who offered no censure when Merlin spoke of Morgana, though how much the little dragon comprehended was unclear. He had not yet spoken, only chirped and squeaked, and gave a strange croak before he spouted flame.

Merlin walked into the royal chambers with an armful of documents to find Arthur at his window, one foot propped on the sill, staring out at the brightly-lit courtyard. The sounds of booted feet crossing the paved stones and an occasional shout drifted in with the smell of horses, nothing out of the ordinary which accounted for the king’s contemplative stance. When Arthur turned to look at him, Merlin saw the appraising look.

Arthur glanced at the scroll on top of his work table. “You know what’s in that.”

“Yes,” Merlin said. Although the report was unconfirmed, they had reason to believe the East Saxons had successfully brokered an alliance with Saxony.

“This threat will reach beyond Essetir, beyond even the Five Kingdoms to all of Albion. I need to know what Morgana is planning, if she is planning anything. I cannot leave Guinevere and the city vulnerable to an attack from within my own kingdom when I lead my army to meet the Saxons,” Arthur said. “Morgana fooled us for a long time, betrayed us repeatedly, tried to kill me, and I was oblivious. I was blind to her because I loved her.” The king did not drop his gaze. “If I could make peace with her, I would. But I have to put the safety of my kingdom, of all the kingdoms of Albion, ahead of that wish. If she has any plans to threaten that safety, I need to know.”

“I understand,” Merlin said softly. “I’ll ask her.”

***

Merlin found Morgana sitting on the soft grass with the trees at her back and the ground stretching away in front of her, chin resting on her knees. She wore the red robe the Druids had gifted her and her dark hair was tied back with a simple cord. He sat on the grass beside her.

“Arthur wants to know what you are planning,” Merlin finally said. He watched her reaction carefully but she did not look at him. “Whatever his personal feelings, you must understand he’s responsible for the safety of his people.”

“If I were planning something,” she muttered, “I would hardly be likely to tell _you_.”

He could not hide his hurt but she only grew angrier.

“If you had not gotten in the way we would have restored magic to Camelot years sooner.”

“You still don’t understand!” He took a breath to calm himself. “You cannot force people at swordpoint to accept us. If you had taken Camelot by force and executed the rightful king it would have become impossible to convince anyone that magic is not entirely evil.” He raked his hands through his hair as he stared at her.

“I was the one who stood up to Uther, not you. I’m the one that those with magic put their hopes in,” she said.

“What makes you think so? Did you ever ask? You never bothered to find out who had magic when you marched an army across the kingdom cutting down anyone who stood in its path. Or asked whose crops you ordered burned. You never asked what any of us wanted, whether we wanted revenge or just to live our lives without fear and without being feared.” He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her but he merely clenched his hands tightly.

Her mouth opened and closed but she did not refute his statements. “What do you want?” she finally asked.

“Peace.”

“You think we’ll achieve peace by waiting for people to accept us?”

“Arthur will unite the lands of Albion and I will help him do it. But there won’t be lasting peace until you’ve ended your war with him.”

For a moment he thought he had gotten through to her, then her stubborn look clamped down on her face.

“Morgause was the only one in the world who ever put me first and you killed her.”

He winced.

“My sister and I only wanted to end the reign of a hypocritical dictator.”

“And replace him with another intolerant dictator,” Merlin said. “I had to stop her.”

“Would you stop me even now if you thought I was a threat to Arthur?”

His breath caught in his throat.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Never mind, I know the answer to that.”

“Morgana, please,” he began but she cut him off.

“Just go and leave me alone.”

***

Gwen thought Merlin seemed despondent in the days since his last meeting with Morgana. For two solid days it had rained, but to Gwen’s knowledge in the three days following he had not once left the citadel.

She found him in the chamber he used for a workroom, a pile of parchment in front of him and a quill in his hand but its tip was dry and he was staring blankly at a wall.

“Hello, Merlin.”

He came to himself and gave her a lopsided grin. “Hi, Gwen. I’m not finished yet.”

“That’s all right, I wanted to talk with you.”

A wary look replaced the grin.

“Has something been bothering you?” she asked.

He sighed, realized the quill was in his hand, and set it down on the table. “Maybe.”

“Does it concern Morgana?”

“She didn’t take kindly to my questioning her about her plans,” he said. “We had a fight.”

“Was it bad?”

He gave her a smile. “It was not nearly so spectacular as a few of our previous fights.”

Gwen had heard those stories and she smiled in return. “Come with me, I want to give you something.”

Merlin’s forehead creased but he got up and followed her without question. She went to the chambers in which she had served Morgana for many years as maid to the king’s ward. The room had not been used by anyone since Morgana had been deposed the first time and fled Camelot with her dying sister. A thick layer of dust covered furniture, bedding, candle holders, even the mirror and hairbrush which sat on the table next to the looking glass. A long cobweb ran from the mirror to the wall.

Merlin gave Gwen another puzzled look when she went directly to the dressing table and opened a drawer. She retrieved a brush and mirror which had been tucked away and a matching necklace and earrings which had not been kept in the overflowing box on the dresser.

Merlin watched curiously as she selected a piece of cloth and wrapped the items before bringing the bundle to him.

“These were gifted to Morgana’s by her father, Gorlois. When Morgana first arrived here, she wore the necklace every day and I watched her hold the brush and simply stare at it. Then she received jewellery of her own, from the king and others, and other items, more and more until the box on the dresser overflowed and she put these away. But I know how much they mean to her, and I think she would want to have them.”

Merlin looked down at the bundle she had given him. “You of all people, Gwen, should be the last to do anything nice for Morgana.”

“I know she wished me ill,” Gwen said. “But if I hate her back then I become bitter and unhappy like she is.”

“You have a good heart, Gwen.”

“I would also fight her to my last breath if she tried to hurt Arthur or take his throne from him.”

Merlin smiled. “I know.”

***

“Lot is no friend to Camelot, I say we leave him to the mercy of the Saxons.”

Two of those seated around the Council table nodded in agreement with Tudwal, several others looked uncertain.

Arthur was relieved that Morgana had no plans to renew her assault on Camelot. He had seen Gwen exchange a look with Merlin when he delivered the news, but neither of them had enlightened the king as to what had swayed Morgana to relinquish her vendetta. He hoped she had found peace in letting go of her hatred of Uther. And Arthur hoped she had forgiven him for whatever wrongs she believed he had done.

The situation in the east was dire and he was glad he could dedicate the full strength of his knights to the new threat. Shortly after the Saxon leader had returned from Saxony, longships landed at the eastern harbours bringing warriors to assist their Anglo cousins in stretching their borders west and north. Their first target had been Essetir. Lot had sent word that his citadel was under siege and he was sorely in need of aid.

“Our duty is to our own people, and if we respond to Lot’s plea then Camelot blood will be spilled,” Aguisel said.

“If we do not send help our people are at risk of the Saxons continuing to push west,” Arthur said.

“Then let us garrison our own border and leave them Essetir if Lot is unable to hold his own lands,” Tudwal said.

“If the Saxons are allowed to take Essetir, they will continue across Albion to the western sea and there will be no stopping them. Lot’s citadel will give them a foothold and a strong base. We must drive them back to the shore and across the sea.” Arthur’s tone brooked no argument.

Despite the worry for her husband that shadowed Gwen’s eyes, she resolutely addressed the Council. “Arthur is right, we must end this threat now.”

“You will face a stronger assault than you did near Calleva,” Ector said. “Even the Five Kingdoms together may not have sufficient force to beat the Saxons back.”

“I agree,” Arthur said. “I have sent to all the rulers of Albion. Bayard I know will stand with us because if the Saxons take Essetir they will be on his doorstep as well as ours, and I have no doubt that Olaf and Gwyl will lend their support.”

“Do you doubt Rodor?” Leon asked.

A line furrowed Arthur’s brow. “I do not doubt his loyalty, but he’s growing old and it’s unlikely his injuries are entirely healed. He is also the furthest west of the Five Kingdoms and in the least immediate danger.”

“And Alined?” Ector questioned. “He is loyal only to himself.”

“But Gwynedd lies north of the Saxon Shore, west of the East Saxons, and south of Essetir. He cannot allow his kingdom to be surrounded on three sides by hostile territory,” Arthur said. “I am more concerned with convincing Godwyn to join us; Gawant is as far east as Nemeth and nearly as far north.”

“What of Queen Annis?” Gaius asked.

Of all of the rulers Arthur was least sure of Annis’s reaction to his request. “It is asking much of her to see the danger to her own kingdom when Caerleon is the land furthest from the current Saxon holdings. I hope her far-sightedness and the truce we reached will sway her to join us.”

“She will,” Merlin said.

Arthur raised his brows.

“They all will.”

“Why?” the king asked.

“Because of you.”

***

Essetir’s citadel stood on the only rise of ground in sight. Even from a distance it was an impressive size, shaped like a hill and towering above the flatlands extending in every direction. The lands themselves were trapped beneath a thick covering of helmets glittering gold and silver with sprigs of horsehair plumes. The vastness of the Saxon army was more daunting to see than reports of numbers could have described, the heavy autumn sunshine picking out axe blades and swords being swung experimentally.

The citadel was entirely surrounded and Arthur wondered that Lot had been able to send his plea for help. Of course, the Saxon ranks would have swelled since they learned Arthur was leading the combined troops of all the lands of Albion toward them. They would have known when he crossed the border from Camelot into Essetir that he would soon arrive at this spot, and they were prepared to defend the area with the same determination he had to take it from them.

Arthur was gratified that Annis and Godwyn had joined him without hesitation. Rodor had brought his troops as well, although he would not lead them into battle himself. Gwl and Olaf had marched west with Arthur’s own troops, Bayard had come from the north to meet them here as Alined had come from the south. They were assembled to begin the assault on the Saxons surrounding Lot. If Arthur’s combined troops could push the Saxons back far enough, what remained of Lot’s fighters would be able to exit the citadel and assist in defending their own kingdom. Then they could drive the invaders back to the seashore.

Arthur’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword and sweat crawled down his back under his tunic, armour, and cape as he surveyed what would soon be a battlefield. His horse shifted beneath him, the animal sensing the tension gathering in the space between the two armies. Arthur turned his attention from the enemy in front of him as they began to march forward so he could look over his right shoulder.

“Are you sure you should be here?” the king asked.

Merlin gave him a familiar grin. “How else am I going to protect your royal backside so you can drive the Saxons out and unite the kingdoms of Albion? Next time, though, I would appreciate if you chose a battlefield in a ravine so I can stand on a clifftop.”

Arthur lifted a brow. “So you can send down lightning bolts on the enemy?”

A speculative expression settled on Merlin’s face. “I don’t know if I can do that; I’ve only called lighting down from the sky once and I was really angry at the time.”

Arthur closed his jaw with a snap at Merlin’s amused look. Several of the knights stared at Merlin but he only shrugged.

Whether his friend intended it or not, the conversation had briefly taken Arthur’s mind off the vastness of the army they faced. With renewed confidence, Arthur faced forward again and drew his sword to raise it above his head, its blade as yet unbloodied and catching a flash of sunlight, while he paused to ensure all eyes to his left and right and behind were fixed on that sword. Then he brought it down in a slicing motion at the same time as he spurred his horse forward.

The sound of booted feet and horses’ hooves running across hard ground chased after him along with eight different war cries mingled together. Puffs of dust were kicked up where hooves struck the turf.

Seeing the charge, the Saxons sent up a shout of their own and rushed forward, their mounted warriors likewise outdistancing the soldiers on foot. Arthur met his first opponent and then was conscious of nothing but swinging and dodging, his horse turning and wheeling at his command. Gwaine and Percival stayed close by his right, Leon and Elyan on his left. He never saw Merlin behind him but from the corner of his eye he would see a weapon or an enemy tossed through the air or a Saxon inexplicably thrown by his mount.

The heat of the sun was lost in the sweat of arms aching from nearly-constant motion and tired legs gripping the horse under him. The earlier battle yells had been replaced by grunts and cries of pain, his gleaming sword was now coated in gore, and salty sweat stung Arthur’s eyes. The only sense of time passing was the lessening distance between him and Lot’s citadel as the Saxons were pushed back.

Finally Arthur found himself in the shade of the citadel’s eastern wall. He had a moment to glance up and see Essetir’s defenders on the battlements, crossbows flashing in and out of sight, before his attention was consumed again in the fighting around him. Then he had moved past the citadel into the sunlight slanting down from the west.

The Saxons redoubled their efforts to gain back the land around the citadel and keep it surrounded, but Arthur responded with a rallying cry and pushed his own troops harder. Then the citadel gates were clear of enemy Saxons.

Arthur could see Olaf, holding his position at Arthur’s right, look back at the closed gates and up at the battlements before he turned grimly back to the fight. Whether Lot was as yet unsure that he could safely open the citadel or was holding back for another reason, Arthur had no time to ponder. The Saxons pressed harder and Arthur responded by driving forward, his knights at his side.

When the Saxons could not regain the area surrounding the citadel, their line weakened further. The ferocity of the combined Albion troops increased in proportion to the faltering of the Saxons, who gave up more and more of the flat terrain.

Arthur pressed his advantage, forcing the Saxons back even further and faster. Only then did he hear a renewed shouting behind him as the Essetir warriors, their arms rested and their battle lust raging after weeks of confinement, reinforced the ranks of the victors. King Lot led them, his thick black beard and bushy black eyebrows visible below his helmet.

At the same time a bare-headed Saxon, his bald head wet with sweat and two bright scars crossing his left cheek, gave a rallying shout and drove his mount toward Arthur, axe held high. Behind him, several of his men followed suit, charging forward with loud shouts.

As Arthur avoided the first thrust of the axe and brought his sword around in a wide sweep, he saw the knights on either side of him engage the Saxons stirred forward in their leader’s wake. Then the axe came down again and Arthur dodged the blade only to have the handle land heavily on his wrist and send his sword to the ground beneath the pounding hooves. The bald Saxon’s weapon came up swiftly and Arthur raised an arm to take the force of the blow, hoping to keep the blade from sinking into his side, but before it struck him a spear thrust itself into the Saxon’s chest and he fell backward.

There was a cry of pain behind Arthur and at the same time another of the Saxons charged toward him. He snatched the mace from his belt and swung it once in a circle before abruptly changing the arc so that the spiked ball dug into the Saxon’s chest before the man’s curved knife could do more than make a shallow cut on Arthur’s right arm. The Saxon gave a choked grunt as he fell to the ground.

Arthur looked around for the next assailant, but Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan had felled the other attackers. As if the bald Saxon and his men had been the last bit of resistance, the Saxon line broke. The troops from Essetir rushed forward, surrounding the last pockets of fighting. Arthur left them to finish the battle, his hands dropping to his side as the ache in his muscles and the cut on his right arm pushed into his consciousness. He used his left forearm to clear sweat from his brow.

Red stained Elyan’s right side. Percival moved to catch the dark-skinned knight when his hand dropped from his injured side and he slid from his mount. The big knight lowered Elyan to the ground and pressed firmly on the wound.

Gwaine gave the king’s arm a long look but Arthur knew the cut was not deep. Then Gwaine’s eyes fastened on something on the trampled grass and his face paled. Heart pounding, Arthur turned to see Merlin lying on the turf, unmoving.

***

Arthur looked down at the recovering Elyan on the ground in the emergency dressing station. Torchlight illuminated the grimace of pain on his face.

“You better be able to travel in two days because I don’t fancy returning to Camelot without you; Guinevere would have my head.”

The knight smiled faintly. “I’ll do my best, Sire.”

“Too bad you’re going to miss the victory feast tomorrow,” Percival said.

“Gwaine can drink a toast or two for me.”

Overhearing Elyan’s comment, the dark-haired knight glanced over and gave him a grin. “Anything to help a fellow knight.” Then he turned back to the man sitting on the ground at his feet holding a damp cloth tightly against his head. “What about you, Merlin? Need me to drink a few toasts for you?”

“No,” the sorcerer said. “I plan to be at the feast and drinking my own toasts. No amount of wine is going to make this headache any worse.”

“Be thankful you have a sore head; that axe came close to removing it entirely,” Leon said.

Merlin gave him a smile. “Thanks for making sure it didn’t.”

“Next time, Merlin,” Arthur said, “perhaps you could look out for your own backside once in a while.”

His friend gave him a half smile and then winced, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the cold cloth firmly into his head.

“Arthur, every soldier that fought with you today declares you are twice the king your father was and they would follow wherever you lead. Some say you are the Once and Future King of legend and you cannot be defeated while Emrys is at your side,” Leon said. “Even Bayard has expressed his admiration for your leadership and his acknowledgement that perhaps you were right to change the laws.”

Arthur felt his brows go up at that. “Well, we’ll see what comes of that at the victory feast tomorrow.”

***

Because Essetir had been under siege for so long and provisions were low, the victory feast was held at a Camelot town on the edge of the Forest of Ascetir. Torches lit the feasting hall and smoke mingled with the smell of a mass of bodies pressed together in the hall warm from the day’s heat.

The feast was the first time since the battle Arthur was together with all the monarchs: King Olaf with his son at his side, hawk-faced King Alined, white-bearded King Gwyl with his two remaining red-headed sons, King Rodor nursing his injuries but sitting tall between his generals, Lord Bayard with his long stringy blond hair towering over his closest companions, elderly Lord Godwyn, Queen Annis in her animal skin furs, and King Lot.

Throughout the day as well as the day previous, Lot had been forging ties with the other rulers, attempting to take credit for the prior day’s victory over the Saxons, but they had all seen Arthur take the field before Lot’s troops left his citadel. Arthur had said nothing on the matter, sparing little time for the other royals and instead spending hours with the wounded and attending burials, not only of his own warriors but of any of those soldiers who had fought with him.

Arthur had been given centre place at the head table of the feast with the other monarchs ranged around him. Due to the size of the assembly, only the highest-ranking officers were granted places in the main hall with the royalty, squeezed into spaces at the long tables, while their soldiers lined the walls behind them. Merlin was seated between Gwaine and Leon who were flanked by Percival and Elyan. Even with two Camelot knights between them and the sorcerer, a few nervous glances were directed toward Merlin by others at the same table. Soldiers who passed by averted their awed stares without meeting his eyes.

When the platters of meats, bread, cheeses, vegetables, and fruits and flagons of wine and mead had been emptied, Arthur stood and lifted his filled goblet. “My lords, the Saxons intend to sweep across this land to once more dip their red and savage tongue in the western ocean. Their thirst for land has not abated in these last years, but grown instead. They will not give up easily, but our victory has shown that as long as we stand united, this land will remain ours.”

“Well said,” shouted King Olaf, slamming one hand on the table and making the freshly-filled goblets jump.

“Agreed,” said elderly Lord Godwyn. “Together we will keep them from our land.”

Several of the knights and generals and both of Gwyl’s sons echoed the sentiment with loud shouts, wine sloshing as goblets were raised and everyone drank.

King Lot did not join in the toast, his eyes skipping around the room to note who drank most enthusiastically and who was reserved. His face was covered by a bushy black beard and mustache but his black hair had begun to recede from his high forehead.

Arthur remained standing. “Singly we can be conquered one by one, or worse, fight among ourselves until the Saxons march in and collect the pieces. But with a strong centre, a common front, they will not beat us.”

Before any could voice their approval, Lot’s voice was raised. “Do you propose yourself as our leader? Is all this fine talk to set yourself up as High King over your elders?”

“If we are to choose one among us as leader, the choice is clear: Arthur,” King Olaf said.

“He is young, but there is none other I would follow,” Lord Godwyn said.

“He was lucky today,” Lot said, “but we cannot depend on luck to carry us.”

“Lucky that your delay in fighting with us to defend your own kingdom did not cost us the victory,” one of Olaf’s red-bearded sons said.

Lot drew himself up at the barb and the nods of agreement that went around the hall.

Even seated, Lord Bayard was head and shoulders taller than his nearest table companions and his voice carried across the hall. “In my years as king there has been enough blood shed to dampen these lands for a generation. I had hoped my people could live in peace once Uther and I made our treaty, but the Saxons have interrupted that time of harmony. I will not allow them to continue these assaults on our borders, and only a strong, united land with one leader will deter them.”

“That may be true,” Lot said. “The question is, should a boy who has worn his crown barely a year be put forward as such a leader when there are several of us in this room who are more fit to hold our united kingdoms together in the face of the Saxon threat?”

Bayard did not answer.

“His father was a strong leader and in time Uther’s son may be fit to take his place.” Lot raised his glass as if this was high praise. “But the boy is years from that honour.”

Rodor’s face was pale but he braced a hand against his injured side to raise his voice above the muttering in the room. “Not long ago I said the same, but Arthur showed us in the south and now again in the east that he is far from a boy. It was his planning, his skill in battle, and his luck,” Rodor glanced at Merlin and away again, “that brought us victory both times. United, with him as our High King, the Saxons will not cross our borders again.”

Lot frowned and Arthur wondered if he had counted on Rodor’s support.

Annis spoke for the first time. “It is true Arthur has not long worn his crown, but he has already proven himself willing to atone for his mistakes and to put the lives of those he is responsible for ahead of his own. These are troubled times; if I were to trust my people’s safety to a central power, there is no one else in this room I would pledge my support to.”

“Arthur’s victory is a sign that it is his sword that has been appointed to lead us,” Godwyn said.

“Is it?” Lot asked. “Then where is this sword which is meant to lead us?”

All heads turned from Lot to Arthur, wondering at the question. Arthur’s hand went to his scabbard, but his hand closed on empty air. He remembered his sword being knocked from his hand to be trampled under the horse’s hooves in that final charge. Even if they could recover it, it was probably beyond repair.

“It was lost in the battle,” Arthur said.

A superstitious muttering ran around the room following his admission.

“A clear sign that the sword which led us to victory has now finished its work,” Lot said. “It is for someone else to lead us now.”

“A sign,” King Gwyl said over the whispers. “The sword is indeed the sign.”

Puzzled looks were directed at the elderly monarch, even from his sons. Lot watched him warily.

“The legends say there will be a sword, a magnificent sword with a golden hilt forged in a dragon’s fire that can only be lifted by the rightwise king.”

Arthur saw Merlin start and stare fixedly at Gwyl.

“A sword of myth and legend is no more useful than a handful of smoke,” Bayard said.

“Then I will lead you to the sword and you can lay your hand on it.”

Merlin’s voice had a strength Arthur had never before heard from his friend. The entire hall fell silent, staring at the sorcerer.

Finally Lot found his voice. “What trickery is this?”

“It is no trick.” Merlin’s voice was cold and rang with a note of power that Arthur found unnerving coming from his friend. “At first light I will lead you to the sword which lies buried in a stone, its golden hilt pointed toward the sun, and I will not stand in the way of any who attempt to lift it.”

At the promise, Arthur could see plans turning inside Lot’s head, searching for a way to turn this to his advantage and claim the sword himself. In that moment, Gwyl spoke again.

“Then at first light we leave here together. If this sword exists, whoever lifts it will claim the title of High King of Albion.”

Glances were exchanged, but one by one each of the rulers seated around the banquet table indicated their agreement. Arthur stared at Merlin trying to discern what he knew and what his plan was, but all Arthur received in response was a small smile.

***

Merlin sat his horse calmly, ignoring Arthur’s inquiring looks and suspicious stares from the other rulers. Despite the spate of questions Arthur and the knights had fired at him as soon as they left the banquet hall the previous evening, Merlin had refused to tell them anything other than that there was a sword and he knew where to find it.

King Alined walked to his mount, Trickler at his heels and a secret smile on his face. The sorcerer yawned widely behind his master’s back. Dark patches under his eyes indicated he had been awake all night. Two of Lot’s attendants looked just as tired and Merlin grinned to himself that they had been watching him so closely last night when he had never left his chamber.

After the royal parties assembled, Arthur nodded at Merlin to lead the way. Word of the sword and the prophecy had spread through the ranks of all the armies as well as the town and surrounding villages. Soldiers in a variety of blazons and citizens of Camelot formed a trail of foot-travelers in the monarchs’ wake following them into the coolness of the Forest of Ascetir.

The sun was low in the eastern sky and the autumn sunlight had yet to warm the air beneath the trees. Greenery muffled both the horses’ hooves and the walkers’ footfalls. No one spoke above a whisper. Birdcalls and the sounds of unseen snakes and small creatures fleeing through the underbrush sounded unnaturally loud. A breeze stirred the leaves of the treetops but barely touched the quiet crowd of royals, soldiers, and common people following the sorcerer.

When they neared the clearing, Merlin dismounted to continue on foot. Behind him, the royals and the knights followed suit, treading through ankle-high underbrush as they weaved among the tall tree trunks into a valley.

Merlin paused and caught his breath when his eyes fell on the glowing sword, its golden hilt touched by a shaft of light which outlined the clearing. He could feel its power from where he stood, could remember the feel of it in his hands. Gasps came from either side of him and finally he moved into the clearing to stand on the furthest edge beyond the large stone which sat in its circle of sunlight.

He saw Arthur’s eyes fasten on the glittering sword, saw him take one step closer as though it had called him, then meet his gaze. Merlin shook his head slightly and Arthur waited.

Bayard was the first to step up to the stone. He glanced at Merlin who merely stood, arms crossed. Slowly Bayard reached out one large hand toward the hilt. As his fingers neared the sword, flames licked up from the stone and the king momentarily drew back his hand before he reached out to grasp the hilt. The flames leapt higher but he gave no indication that he felt any heat and his hand was not burned. Bayard tugged on the sword experimentally. It did not budge. He gripped it with both hands and pulled harder but without success. The muscles in his thick arms flexed under his tunic as he yanked upward. Finally he released his grip and stepped back. Immediately, the flames died down.

“It is stuck fast,” Bayard said.

Alined moved forward. Despite the reassuring half-smile Trickler gave his master, he shot a nervous glance at Merlin.

Alined reached out both hands. The fire leapt up and he shrank back before he resolutely gripped the hilt of the sword, then fixed his gaze on Trickler. His look promised dire consequences for the sorcerer if he failed to loose the sword in his master’s hands.

Trickler’s eyes flashed gold as Alined tugged on the hilt. The sword did not move. Alined narrowed his eyes at his servant, his mouth set in a grim line. Trickler stared hard at the sword, his eyes turning gold once more. His frightened look met the king’s who refused to release his grip on the golden hilt. Trickler tried one more time to use his magic to release the sword but Alined’s hands merely slipped, loosening his hold on the shiny metal. The flames died down. Angrily, Alined grabbed the hilt and tugged with all his might to no avail.

“Enough,” Lot said. “Leave off.”

Droplets stood out on Alined’s forehead and his sweaty hands lost their grip again. He stepped back, panting slightly. “Do you want to try?” he demanded.

Lot looked at the shining sword stuck in the stone, and then at Merlin. “No. The sword is not meant for me.”

Gwyl looked around the gathering. “Is there any other who wishes to try his hand?”

A large man stepped forward and Merlin recognized Derian, Annis’s loyal soldier. The giant strode directly to the stone and gripped the golden hilt without flinching at the flames which immediately sprang up. He heaved with both his bare arms and the stone itself rocked slightly but did not release the sword. Derian let go, gave a small bow to Arthur, and returned to Annis’s side.

All eyes went to Arthur. His glance slid to Merlin and then fixed on the sword. Slowly, he walked forward until he stood beside the stone, facing the crowd which surged closer, swirling through the trees to either side of the monarchs lining the clearing’s edge, everyone wanting to see for himself.

Arthur’s gaze fastened on the glittering sword; he stretched out one gloved hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt like a caress. The circle of sunlight lit his golden hair and sparkled along the sword which appeared to glow with its own light. Flames crawled up the words inscribed on the gilded length of the blade which rose from the stone.

Gently, Arthur lifted the sword and it slid smoothly from the rock, the blade sparkling in the sunlight as Arthur lifted it above his head until it pointed at the sky. He had not taken his eyes from the glittering blade.

Smiling to himself, Merlin looked around at the transfixed crowd staring upward at the shining sword Arthur held high.

Then Leon shouted, “Long live the king!”

Immediately the cry was taken up by the Camelot knights and citizens, then by the other soldiers, and finally by the gathered royalty. “Long live the king!”

***

Arthur could not keep his right hand from letting go of his horse’s reins and slipping down to touch the hilt of the sword. It sent a shiver up his arm, and he knew if he drew it out the blade would glow faintly even in the bright sunshine.

It had been the same yesterday as he carried the sword back to town, the monarchs of all the kingdoms of Albion following him, to draw up the terms of the agreement that would make him High King.

King Lot had ridden directly behind him at Arthur’s right hand. Despite Lot’s frustrated ambition, he was well aware he could not hold the Saxons back alone nor could he hope to gather followers here. The soldiers, including his own, were by occupation a superstitious lot and they had been given a clear sign of Arthur’s appointment as ruler besides having seen the golden-haired king lead them to victory.

Alined had returned unaccompanied by Trickler. Where the sorcerer had gone, Arthur did not know, but it seemed he had no intention of facing whatever retribution Alined had in store for his failure. Annis for one had noticed the man’s special talent; it was likely he would shortly secure a position at another court. He could even do so openly.

King Gwyl had officially repealed the ban on sorcery in his kingdom, and King Olaf and Lord Godwyn had followed suit. King Alined could no longer maintain his objection and would soon do the same. Neither Queen Annis nor King Lot had ever agreed with Uther’s decrees. King Rodor and Lord Bayard would follow Arthur’s lead in time.

Taking his hand away from the sword, Arthur glanced at Merlin riding beside him as they made their way back to Camelot with those warriors who had survived the battle. The most severely wounded would be tended in the border town until they recovered enough to travel or they were buried with honour. Arthur had had little time to spend with them yesterday while he was closeted with the other monarchs, which also meant he had not had an opportunity to speak with Merlin and get some answers.

“Merlin.”

The sorcerer looked at him expectantly. “Yes, Arthur?”

“What is the story?”

“What story?”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “The sword.”

“You mean that sword? The one you keep caressing?”

“I am not caressing it,” Arthur said.

There was a snort from Gwaine behind him.

“What is the story with the sword?” Leon asked Merlin. “They say you fixed it in the stone with your magic arts and it has waited there a hundred years.”

The dark-haired young man puffed out a breath. “Well obviously I wasn’t around a hundred years ago.”

“Nor was the sword.” Elyan rode stiffly, one arm pressed against his right side. “My father made that sword.”

Arthur and Leon looked at him in surprise.

“It was the finest sword he ever made, yet he never felt it was finished. He was always finding some tiny flaw he needed to fix even though Gwen and I knew how proud of it he was.”

“How did it get into the stone, then?” Leon asked.

“I put it there,” Merlin said.

“Why would you do such a thing to a beautiful weapon like this?” Arthur asked.

“Because it has great power and in the wrong hands it can do great evil. I was in enough trouble after I let Uther wield it.”

“My father was ‘the wrong hands’?”

Merlin gave him a solemn look. “Yes. The sword was made for you, Arthur. You are destined to be Albion’s greatest king, far greater than Uther.”

“I can second that,” Gwaine said.

Arthur looked at Leon to see if he would defend the king he had served faithfully, but Leon nodded his agreement with the others.

“Trouble with who?” Elyan asked.

Remembering what Merlin had said, Arthur sent him a questioning look.

“The Great Dragon. He was not happy with me.”

“Then is it true the sword was forged in a dragon’s breath?” Gwaine asked.

Elyan frowned. “How could that be?”

“I needed a weapon that could kill the dead.”

“Why would you need to kill something that’s dead?” Elyan questioned.

Merlin took a deep breath. “Gwen gave me the sword when I asked, and Kilgharrah burnished it when I begged him to help me save Arthur from the wraith.”

“My father defeated the wraith, the one you said would kill me.”

“I came up with a weapon for you to use that would kill it but then Uther came along and used it instead and anyway the Great Dragon said I had to get rid of it so I threw it into the Lake of Avalon.”

“A lake? What about the stone?” Arthur asked in frustration.

“You’re not good at telling stories,” Gwaine said.

Merlin gave them both a long-suffering look. “I’m getting to the stone. When Morgana and Morgause attacked with an immortal army, I needed the sword so I went to the lake and Freya brought it to me.”

“Freya?” Gwaine asked with an interested look.

Merlin blushed.

Arthur raised his brows but Merlin hurried on. “After the sword helped me empty the Cup of Life and the immortal army was destroyed, I put the sword into the stone where no one else could wield it until Arthur was ready to claim it. I had nearly forgotten about it until Gwyl mentioned the legend.”

***

Merlin finished recounting the story and turned in his seat to face Gwen where she sat at the table in the royal chambers. He was still not accustomed to seeing her dressed in such a rich gown with her hair in long curls down her back, although she had not bothered with the royal circlet for this private meeting.

She leaned forward and laid one hand on his arm where it rested on the table. “I’m glad you found such a use for my father’s sword, even if Arthur touches it more than he does me.”

Arthur’s hand jumped guiltily from the gold hilt of his sword.

Merlin grinned at Gwen. “You may not be so glad when you have to help him rule nine kingdoms instead of one.”

Gwen smiled. “He has you to help him, too.”

“Merlin is no help, he’s too busy enchanting swords and throwing them into lakes or burying them in hunks of stone.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Who is Freya?”

Gwen turned an interested look on Merlin.

“She’s a woman.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “How enlightening.” He leaned forward. “How did she bring you a sword if it was at the bottom of a lake?”

“She’s dead.” Merlin looked down at the table.

Gwen laid a hand on his shoulder.

“A dead girl brought you a sword?” Arthur asked. “You have a complicated love life.”

Gwen gave her husband a stern look before she turned back to Merlin. “Is this the woman you mentioned before? What happened to her?”

As painful as it was to think of those few precious days, Merlin wondered if it would be better after all to talk about it. “Arthur killed her.”

“I what?”

“I don’t blame you,” Merlin said. “You had to protect your citizens and it was hopeless anyway. If I had left Camelot with her no good would have come of it.”

“You would have left Camelot?” Arthur appeared more shocked than when Merlin had called a dragon and conjured up a wall of fire.

“She must have been special,” Gwen said.

“I had never known anyone like her,” Merlin said. “For those three days I was happier than ever in my life. But it was doomed from the start. She was cursed and I couldn’t save her.”

“What makes you think I killed her?” Arthur asked quietly.

“I saw you corner the Bastet. It was sorely wounded in its side, and I knew it was wrong but I helped her escape.”

Arthur frowned. “That monster that was murdering people every night, with human footsteps leading away from the bodies, was a girl?” He looked at Merlin. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin did not believe Arthur was sorry he had killed the murderous beast. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry she died and you can’t be together,” Arthur said sincerely.

“She won’t be the last woman you ever love, you know,” Gwen said.

Merlin gave her a small smile and patted Gwen’s hand. It had helped to talk about it.

“What about Sefa?” She tipped her head to slant a look at Merlin.

He shook his head. “She’s sweet and pretty, but I’m not in love with her.”

***

Arthur waited in the open stretch of ground, the grass knee-high and a few rocky outcroppings poking out of the dirt, with Guinevere by his side and his knights forming a circle around them. Since Merlin had assured him Morgana was not planning another coup, he had accepted that she was finished her relentless assaults and he could concentrate on the Saxon threat and all the other demands of eight kingdoms. He had not, however, been prepared to receive her offer of a truce two days ago.

His first instinct was to deny her request and leave her destitute, dependent on the Druids. Instead, Merlin had convinced him Morgana’s offer was genuine and she could be safely confined at Gorlois’s keep, so Arthur had agreed to this meeting.

Merlin was supposed to bring Morgana but the sun had reached its highest peak and the sorcerer had yet to arrive with Arthur’s half-sister. The sound of hoofbeats caught his attention. It was not the sound of a rider approaching, but of a horse looking for food and shelter. Gwaine rode out to catch the riderless mount and bring it back.

“It’s definitely Merlin’s horse,” he said.

Gwen looked worriedly at Arthur. “Should we be concerned?”

“That Merlin is in danger, no,” Arthur said. “That I will not be able to rid myself of the picture in my mind right now, yes.” He turned to the knight. “Gwaine, go find them, they can’t be far.”

The knight nodded and rode off in the direction the horse had wandered from.

Not long after, Arthur saw Gwaine returning, his horse at a walk. In front of him strode Merlin followed by Morgana. She looked very different from the last two times Arthur had seen her: on the throne of Camelot with her sister, dressed in a rich gown with her hair groomed, and then again in the throne room with Agravaine by her side, wearing a ragged black dress and her hair in a tangle. Now she wore a red robe similar to the cloaks worn by all the Druids with her long, dark hair in a single braid down her back.

As she approached, Leon stepped in front of her to bar her way. She met the blond knight’s unforgiving stare defiantly.

“How could you make me responsible for the deaths of innocent citizens for refusing to bow to you when you had no right to the crown?” Leon said coldly.

“How could you have unquestioningly carried out Uther’s orders to arrest people for using magic when you knew they would be executed?” Morgana responded in kind.

“We have all done things we are ashamed of,” Arthur interjected.

Leon clenched his hand on his sword hilt as though he would sooner cut her down where she stood than let her near Arthur. Morgana lifted her chin to hold his gaze unflinchingly until the king gestured for Leon to step aside and Morgana to approach him.

Despite his words, Arthur could not keep the hostility from his face. Beside him, he knew Guinevere’s expression was no more welcoming than his. She was every inch the queen of Camelot, from the royal circlet on her head to the hem of her red gown stitched with gold thread.

“Magic is not evil, it does not corrupt those who have it, yet you have repeatedly attempted to take my life and my crown. What have I ever done to earn your hatred?” Arthur demanded.

“You made it perfectly clear how you felt about me and my kind.”

Her words did not surprise him, but it was not said with the forcefulness he expected from her. His anger cooled. “I was mistaken, and I will do everything in my power to make amends to those I have wronged.” His eyes flicked to Merlin and then back to his sister. “You know I am not the same as our father.”

“Uther was never my father,” Morgana said heatedly.

“Yet you have used his name and attempted to take his throne. You were responsible for his death.”

He saw tears gather in her eyes but he did not relax his implacable expression. She had not earned any second chances.

“Arthur, I do regret some of the things I have done. If I could make amends I would.”

He did not let her remorse sway him. “Are you renouncing the Pendragon name and any claim to the throne of Camelot?” Despite his refusal to feel sympathy for her, he found himself holding his breath while he waited for her answer.

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I want to return home, to my father’s keep.”

Arthur said nothing for a moment, his eyes searching her face. She had successfully fooled him for a long time and there was no reason to trust her now, but when he finally spoke it was without anger. “You have proven yourself to be a dangerous traitor. I cannot put the kingdom at risk by allowing you to live freely within the borders of Camelot. The only possible way to allow you to live at Tintagel is with one of my loyal knights in command of a permanent guard stationed in the keep to ensure your peaceable behaviour. If anything happens to them, I will know.”

Leon stepped forward. “Sire, you know you could trust me to see to your best interest.”

“Thank you, Leon.” Arthur said. “But I need my First Knight in Camelot.”

“Sire, if I may be so bold,” Elyan stepped forward next. “You know you can rely on my loyalty.”

The king looked at his knight thoughtfully and then turned to Guinevere.

“If my brother is willing to be stationed so far from the city, even though I will miss his presence, you can trust he will faithfully fulfill his duty.” She gave Elyan a proud smile.

Arthur nodded at her assessment and turned back to his half-sister. He did not smile, but he felt a hope for reconciliation that had been absent for a long time. “If you renounce any claim to the throne you can take up residence in Tintagel, but you will be confined to the keep. Sir Elyan with a contingent of guards will be stationed there and will send me regular reports as well as receive my messengers whenever I choose to send them. You are free to practice the Old Religion, but be warned that although magic is no longer banned in this kingdom, crimes committed using sorcery are subject to our justice.”

“Agreed,” Morgana said softly.

“I will arrange for the packing of your clothing, jewellery, and personal possessions which remain in the palace and will send them to Tintagel,” Guinevere said, her tone cool.

Morgana’s startled gaze jumped to her former maid. “Thank you, Gwen,” she said sincerely.

“Elyan, send word to Tintagel and make your preparations to leave within the week.” Arthur turned to Morgana. “Merlin can escort you back to the Druid camp today and Elyan will ensure your safe passage to Tintagel when all is ready.”

She gave him a nod of acceptance and he acknowledged her agreement with a nod in return. She turned her eyes to Gwen.

“Goodbye, Morgana,” the queen said.

“Goodbye,” Morgana answered.

Arthur felt Guinevere take his hand as they watched Morgana turn and stride away. Merlin gave them both a smile before collecting the reins of his horse from Gwaine and hurrying to catch up to her. The knights visibly relaxed at her departure.

“Am I wrong to let her live, even to live here in Camelot, after all she has done and the lives she has cost?” Arthur asked softly.

“No, Arthur,” Gwen said. “A desire to punish is what nearly ruined us: Uther’s revenge on magic, Morgana’s revenge on Uther, both of them seeking justice for wrongs and causing misery to everyone around them. Compassion is the only way forward.”

He squeezed the hand holding his and smiled down at her. “I can always trust you to give me wise counsel. Your capacity to forgive amazes me.”

She sobered. “I haven’t forgiven her, but I know I should and I am trying.”

“Then you will be my inspiration. Forgiveness and compassion are not values my father taught me.”

Gwen laid one hand on the side of his face and met his eyes. “But you have them and you have shown time and again you are a greater king than your father was.”

“I wanted to make him proud, Guinevere,” Arthur said. “I hope he understands now that everything I have done is for the good of the kingdom he built and protected, even when I went against his decrees.”

“By doing so, you gave the people of this land hope for the future of Camelot and all the kingdoms of Albion.”

“Merlin should take some of the credit. I wish my father knew the part he played.”

Gwen raised her brows. “What part is that?”

“Keeping me alive, making me the king I am, helping me build the kingdom that we dreamed of.” Arthur saw the knowing smile on his wife’s face. “Don’t tell him I said that, whatever you do, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Gwen merely smiled and leaned up as Arthur bent down to kiss her.

 

END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and especially for the kudos and comments.
> 
> If you are re-reading and notice the edits, I would be interested to hear from you.


End file.
